


dream you (wide awake)

by Rumourhasit



Series: years and change (after the end of the world) [2]
Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Domestic Bliss, Galo Thymos' (And the Author's) Extended Love Letter to One Lio Fotia, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Canon, Retrospective, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22942213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumourhasit/pseuds/Rumourhasit
Summary: To: Ainado u think using a PowerPoint during a proposal is a dealbreakerFrom: Ainaoh my god(Galo, on the tricky nature of wanting, cohabitation, magazine quizzes about relationships - and four interrupted proposals.)
Relationships: Gueira/Meis (Promare), Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: years and change (after the end of the world) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591003
Comments: 68
Kudos: 334





	1. Chapter 1

_“Fuck - “_

His voice is barely a groan, lost in the crook of Lio’s shoulder. He gets a chuckle in response, breath warm against his ear. Fingers skate up his arm, leaving sparks in their wake. Just when Galo thinks he caught his breath, hands are tilting his head up, lips coaxing his mouth open to steal it all over again. He kisses back, of course - all tongue and teeth and harried snippets of a name - until he’s dizzy and his lungs _burn_.

“Easy.” Teeth graze along his lower lip before Lio pulls back, forehead damp against his own. There’s a kiss pressed against the corner of his mouth, followed by another on his cheek. “Stay with me.” 

It’s a warm, gentle echo of his demand just minutes ago - simmering embers of an inferno. Finger trace along his jaw, circling the fresh bitemarks marring Galo’s neck.  
No matter how many times he gets to witness Lio’s post-orgasm transformation from _bossy dom_ to _doting boyfriend_ , it always reduces Galo to a goopy mess. 

“Not that I’m complaining…” he murmurs after a pause, “...but you really like the glasses _that_ much?”

Lio’s lips purse into the beginnings of a pout. With a sniff, he reaches to pointedly adjust the thick-rimmed reading glasses in question, perched on the bridge of Galo’s nose. “You and your _thing_ for my leather trousers have no place to talk.” 

Galo can’t quite hold back a laugh because, y’know, that’s fair. “I’m just _saying_.” He reaches over to trace a thumb over the curve of Lio’s pout. “Would’ve brought the paperwork home sooner if I knew.” 

Slowly, Lio blinks. And then there’s a tongue at the tip of Galo’s finger, violet eyes flashing dark as he leans closer. 

“Sit up.” he purrs, teeth grazing his thumb with wicked intention. “I wanna ride you.” 

The words are a punch to the gut, twisting hot through his abdomen. He’s shifting before he knows it, hands finding hasty purchase on the glorious planes of Lio’s thighs as his boyfriend straddles him. 

“You sure?” Galo manages, making an attempt to glance at the red, accusatory numbers on the alarm clock. “Tomorrow’s you isn’t going to be happy at six in the morning.”

Lio just grinds their hips together in response. His fingers, still slick from Galo’s last orgasm, are already pressed knuckle-deep, working himself open with a furious sort of focus. 

“That,” he declares, voice breathless and scorching-hot, “is future Lio’s problem.” 

\---

They somehow manage to make it to work on time.  
(Barely.)

The wind tugs on Galo’s jacket, cold and crisp, as he takes a sharp turn. The scattered clouds above them are flushed pink by the time the office looms into view. Lio’s boots smack against the concrete the second they skid to a halt, tugging his helmet off in a flurry of blonde bangs. The harried ride downtown has done nothing to soothe his disgruntled mood, expression etched into a glower since the first alarm. 

“What’s _the point_ of living in a _civilization_ if you still have to get up at _stupid_ hours?” he grumbles. There’s a rumpled edge to his scowl, a twist to his lips that comes before his first coffee.

Despite Lio’s sullen tone, Galo finds himself grinning. It’s somewhat of a novelty still to hear his boyfriend voice a complaint - a silly, petty one at that. It’s not something he would have allowed himself just a year ago. But here he is - bundled into leather and plaid, grumbling about _morning people_ and _unreasonable schedules_. It’s small and dumb and it thrills Galo unreasonably.

Less thrilling is Lio’s schedule for the week, full of back-to-back meetings in an office on the other side of the city. If they were lucky, they’d get to eat their lunch together, maybe snatch an hour before the lawyers and the night shift swallowed them both.

 _It’s only for a few more weeks,_ Galo reminds himself. _Two down, two more to go._

“There are no memory foam mattresses in the desert,” he replies aloud, catching the helmet tossed his way. “Also, no matcha cakes.”

Leather-clad shoulders heave with a heavy sigh, lips twisting into something warm and fond. “You make a good point, Galo Thymos.”

Galo beams. “I make the _best_ points.” 

Lio snorts. Then - like yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that - he leans forward, hand finding purchase on Galo’s arm. They meet each other halfway, the kiss as sweet as it’s brief.  
(Like yesterday, and the day before and the day before that, Galo can’t quite keep his smile at bay.)

“I’ll text you.” comes Lio’s promise as he pulls away. His grip tightens before he breaks into a run, the sound of his heels sharp against the tarmac. Galo waits until he’s at the entrance before taking a deep breath. 

“Have a great day!” His bellow startles two pigeons into flight. He sees a flash of a grin and a wave of a hand before the revolving door sweeps his boyfriend out of sight.

\---

It’s months after the end of the world, and every day, there’s still reasons for Galo’s soul to burn a little brighter. 

\---

 _Wanting_ was a fickle, complicated thing.  
Galo learnt that very early on.

Most of the time, what you wanted wasn’t important at all, in the grand scheme of things. 

( _“Be patient_ ,” they would say, all pressed shirts and thin smiles, herding him back towards his room. The air was cold against his wet cheeks, every shaky breath somehow still smelling of smoke. “ _You wouldn’t want to be a bother, would you?”_ ) 

Sometimes, wanting things meant hurting others.

_(“Galo! Don’t make a mistake. We have no right to stop them.”)_

Far too many times, the things you wanted just ended up coming back to bite you in the ass.

 _(His throat is sore from all the shouting, knuckles raw from pounding on the cell door. It’s useless, either way - no one is listening.  
_ _Least of all the person he keeps begging for an answer.)_

Still. He wants a lot of things.  
(He’s only human.)

He wants more apartments in Promepolis that allow dogs. He wants a larger stomach and a better tolerance for dairy, just so he can put away a _bit_ more pizza every time. He wants more durable uniforms and dress codes that are just a bit more _fun_ and less insistent on ties.

He wants people to treat each other - _everyone -_ fairly, even on bad days. For people to stay safe. He wants more shifts ending with zero injuries and casualties. He wants the media to stop latching onto the scars on his arm at every opportunity, twisting them to their own, warped agenda. ( _‘Propaganda’_ , Remi had called it, with a tone reserved for three-week old leftovers in the back of the fridge.)

He wants Lucia to get the same funding and recognition as the scientists who flaunt their inventions on TV. He wants clever answers to offer Aina when she sobs into his shoulder - comforting words to help untangle the complicated mess of emotions about her sister. (She says his hugs and assurances help, but there’s only so much a pack of tissues can do at the end of the day.) 

He wants the joys of old achievements to still ring with the same, simple sincerity as they once did. He wants the memory of Kray to not burn his throat every time he catches a glimpse of the man on a screen, leaving his mouth tasting like ash. 

And then there’s the matter of Lio.  
And Galo wants - oh, how he _wants_.

\---

Twenty-three hours and forty minutes after orchestrating a blaze of universal proportions to save Earth, Galo staggered back into his apartment and passed out on the sofa.

Ten hours and four minutes later, face scrubbed pink and mouth full of toothpaste, he makes a solemn promise to the mirror.

He was going to be _smart_ about this.

 _This,_ of course, encompassed a whole lot of things: the reconstruction efforts, fulfilling his promise to the former Burnish, cleaning up the fallout of Kray’s terrible plans for humanity.  
And Lio, of course. 

Lio, who had spent a week trapped in a _volcano_ with an ice bullet lodged inside his chest. Right before all the rampaging and the mecha-fights and the whole _fuelling an entire spaceship into inter-dimensional flight against his will_ and _saving the whole world_ business. Lio who, despite all that, had helped with the rescue efforts for hours and hours, stopping only when his legs literally gave out underneath him. Lio, whose fire Galo can still feel on his skin days later, the memory of it making his fingertips tingle. 

_(Flames everywhere, iridescent and all-consuming, not hot in the slightest. Not anymore.)_

Hazy violet eyes flash across his vision, the memory warm and smoke-scented. There’s a ghost of a touch against his lips and his chest constricts in a manner that’s slowly becoming familiar - too-warm, too-raw, almost too-big for his body to contain.

He takes a deep breath. Counts to three. Behind him, the pipes gurgle.

He wasn’t going to rush in blindly, Galo reminds himself once more. He was going to take his time. Do this _right_.

They had all the time in the world now, after all.

\---

It takes two days for him to lose Lio to the bottomless pit of bureaucracy. 

Forty-eight hours (give or take) is the time it takes for people in charge to stop insisting the former Mad Burnish prioritise their recovery and start talking about _repercussions_ and _responsibility_ instead. Forty-eight hours is also the longest time Lio can bare to sacrifice for bedrest. It’s only by chance Galo manages to catch him before he flees the hospital, torn jacket tugged hastily over his bandages and agitation clear in every move. 

_“I can’t just sit around any longer,”_ Lio had hissed, knuckles white against Galo’s shirt. _“Not when my people are hurt and without proper homes and - “_

The nurses had caught up with him then, suited politicians hot on their heels. There were demands and sharp retorts, voices rising loud enough to drown out every word Galo tried to say. Ignis’ hands eventually found his shoulders in the chaos, leading him down a corridor and into a much-too-small lift.

“Come on, Galo.” he said once the doors slid shut, and Galo’s protests shrivelled on his tongue. “There’s work to do.” 

-

He barely sees Lio outside of work - hell, _at all_ \- for a better part of the month. 

Apparently, it didn’t matter that Lio wasn’t a trained lawyer, or a politician, or a doctor, or a city planner. He was still the go-to person for a thousand tiny details and a hundred more odd accusations concerning the former Burnish, from housing projects to damage demands. Rebuilding a city, as it turns out, was a terribly complicated process, with more problems materialising every day. Homes had to be built and rebuilt, people needed to be healed and fed. A dozen protocols had to be discarded, their absences hastily filled. A whole new department had to be created to deal with just a fraction of the paperwork that came with re-integrating hundreds of people back into society. 

It was enough to make Galo’s head hurt. 

Lio’s days off were few and far between, and they were mostly spent in his former generals’ company, holed up in their shared room in a temporary Burnish shelter.  
And Galo gets that. He really does. Family was important, especially in times of crisis - when everything else around you was crumbling, changing faster than you could even hope to process it.  
He gets that. 

He also gets that just because his flames are gone, Lio doesn’t simply stop being a leader. If anything, the fate of his people - vulnerable and without direction, surrounded on all sides by people that had rejected and hunted them for years - now rest heavier on his shoulders than ever before. Heavier still is the guilt - for every casualty, for every loss, every ruined life. Things Lio feels could have been prevented, had he been just a little stronger. 

And Lio has his pride - which Galo can understand. (Appreciate. Admire, even.) Asking for handouts, for charity has never been his style - his plans for the Burnish had always been about self-sufficiency and independence. And he’s stubborn about it too, refusing to give the public any ammunition against them. Galo doesn’t like it, but can only grudgingly accept his point.

(He can’t help but think, though - wasn’t _that_ the whole point of living together in a city like this? To protect each other and help those in need?)

At the end of the day, what Galo wants - above all else - is to help Lio.  
And Lio _wants_ to do this - _needs_ to do this, even if it wears him thin and runs him ragged. (He never complains, but Galo has eyes.) Even when the tasks ahead of them seem more and more insurmountable with every passing day.  
Lio wants to do this, so Galo is going to support him. He’s not going to push. Or demand, or put more on Lio’s already overflowing plate.

But…  
But, but, but.

Well.  
At the end of the day, he _is_ Galo Thymos, firefighter and rescuer _extraordinaire_ with a burning soul, and he cannot quite help himself. 

\---

“Here!”

To his credit, Lio takes having a magazine suddenly shoved into his face rather well. After a confused beat, he reaches to take it.  
Galo rocks back on his heels, digging his newly-freed hands deep into his pockets. “I found it last night.” In the magazine aisle of the 24-hour supermarket, driven out of the house at stupid-o’clock by insomnia and a craving for pizza rolls. The glossy chopper bike on the cover had glittered under the fluorescent lights, calling to him like a glorious chromed siren. “Thought you might get a kick out of it!” It had cost him most of his designated pizza-rolls-budget and he wasn’t even a little mad about it.

Lio makes a vague noise of acknowledgement, staring at the cover. The smudges under his eyes have purpled since Galo last saw him, pronounced and frighteningly dark. And then he’s glancing up, gaze gleaming with an intensity the firefighter cannot quite name and all of a sudden, his knees are just a _little_ too weak. 

“Well!” he announces, a touch too loudly. “I’m gonna go see Lucia about the new upgrades! Enjoy!”

As he marches out of the room, all wide strides and swinging arms, he swears he hears a chuckle. 

-

To his immense shock, he returns thirty minutes later to find Lio exactly where he left him.

He pauses in the rec room doorway, swallowing his greeting. Lio’s tucked himself into the corner of the sofa, the magazine balanced on his thighs. He seems completely engrossed, eyes flickering rapidly between paragraphs, page corner pinched between his fingers. Just as Galo briefly considers melting on the spot, Lio nods to himself, dog-earing the page to mark it for later.

Galo feels a grin break across his face, feet carrying him over the threshold with ease. “Getting inspired?”

Lio doesn’t quite jump, but it’s a near thing. “...Maybe.”

He doesn’t move, though. Galo takes that as an invitation to take a seat beside him, craning his neck for a better look at the photo spread. “Oh, _damn._ ” 

“Isn’t it gorgeous? This is the kinda custom job you wanna win the lottery for.”

There’s a soft sort of excitement to Lio’s tone, warm and sly. When he shifts a fraction to slide the magazine closer, their knees bump together.

(The scent of smoke still clings to him, buried underneath floral bodywash and the crisp tones of a freshly-pressed uniform. Galo can smell it now, from such close proximity - sharp and now-familiar enough to make his throat ache.)

“I mean - I get that one - but those?” He jabs a finger at the shoddy-looking models at the bottom of the page. “Who would pay _that_ much money for something so outdated?”

There’s an elbow at his ribs, quick and terribly pointy. “Those are _vintage_ , you heathen.” The words are accompanied by a scoff and a somewhat-serious scowl, and once more, Galo finds himself admiring just how _long_ Lio’s eyelashes were. “These bikes don’t quite have matoi-levels of legacy, but they’ve been around since the seventies, I’ll have you know.”

There’s a sparkle in Lio’s eye, the start of a smile tugging at his lips. With reliable predictability, Galo’s heart skips several beats.

“...Go on then. Tell me more!” 

-

The others find them in the middle of a heated debate an hour later, hands bumping together with every enthusiastic gesture.  
There’s an awkward pause, a few questions neither of them can answer (when _did_ they have time to draw _all_ these stick figures over the page?) and a poorly concealed flash of what must be Lucia’s phone camera at work. 

But Lio agrees to join them for dinner - shoulders slack and eyes glimmering - and Galo is too elated to pay the knowing smirks any mind.

\---

So. Here’s the thing.

He promised he was going to be smart about this (and Galo Thymos doesn’t take promises lightly). He wasn’t going to step on Lio’s toes, or push him to do things faster. 

But.  
But, but, _but_. 

Lio is the first person he sees in the station every morning, no matter how early he arrives. He’s the last person to leave too, hunched over a desk and lingering long after everyone else has left. Galo sees the mounting tension in his shoulders as the hours pass and the kitchen’s coffee stock drastically declines. He sees Lio before and after meetings with officials, his attempt at a professional expression splintering at the seams. He sees the bitter curve of his lips as he watches the news, frustration clear in his white-knuckled grip.

(It had spilled out of him one night, pressed between the sunset sky and the rusty railing of the Burning Rescue rooftop - his anger and despair at the snail-slow progress for _everything_. The waiting lists, the meager budgets, how landlords and employers were still so wary of giving the former Burnish a chance.

 _“Sometimes I think we should give up and just try that whole desert city idea again,”_ he had murmured at one point, rubbing a hand across his eyes. _“Starting from scratch seems so much easier.”_ ) 

He sees him waving away Meis and Gueira whenever they try expressing their concern, steadily assuring them that no, _really_ , he was _fine_. He sees Ignis and Varys receive the same treatment when they offer help, words polite and unspeakably stubborn.

And Galo just can’t help himself.  
So he lingers. 

He lingers by Lio’s desk on his lunch breaks, strategically replacing empty mugs with glasses of water. He lingers in the kitchen in the mornings, arriving laden with sandwiches too big and glorious for any workaholic to ignore. He lingers in the station long after the end of his own shift, pulling up a chair beside the rickety desk Lio has claimed as his own, deaf to all protests. 

He knocks on his landlady’s door with an armful of muffins, all baked to perfection. A chat and a slight sugar coma later, he asks about the recently vacated apartments downstairs, and whether maybe she could consider giving former Burnish tennants a chance. He makes his rounds at the restaurants he frequents, seeking vacancies and potential food donations. He pays his old orphanage an overdue visit, nervous fingers flicking through the photos of the ex-Burnish shelters for his old matron to see.

It’s not a lot, he knows. Unlike Heris or Ignis, his connections are few and far between. He can’t offer free prosthetics or favours from judges - or even help Lio shoulder any duties.

But wildfires start with a single spark, and a life can be saved with one desperate kiss. 

So what else can he do but try?

\---

Galo thinks he’s doing really well. 

It’s not an easy balance to keep, lingering without stepping on Lio’s toes. But save for that one time when he sent two dozen pizzas to a late-night meeting of only three, he thinks he’s done really well. 

However. 

“Come stay at mine!"

There are times where a man really just can’t help himself. 

Lio stares at him, spoon hovering above his mug. “...what?”

( _“The shelter’s almost empty now.”_ he had said, just a few minutes prior. Galo had hummed, nudging the sugar closer. 

_“That’s great, right?”_

_“Mmm.”_ Lio’s tone had been far too casual, eyes fixed on the milk. _“Meis and Gueira found a place too. They’re gonna move out next week.”_

_“Are you gonna move out with them?”_

_“They offered but...I want to give them their space.”_ Lio had smiled at that, soft and fond. _“They hadn’t really had any proper privacy for years, so…”_

He’d shrugged, reaching for the sugar. There was a sad curve to his lips, shoulders painfully stiff, and the words were tumbling out before Galo knew it.)

“Come stay at mine!” he repeats, firmer this time. “I’ve got loads of space in my apartment! And I could give you a ride to work in the morning!” 

Lio blinks, bewildered. A spot of colour blooms high on his cheek. “That’s - you don’t have to do that. I’ll be okay staying at the station.” 

Galo frowns. “...what, in the rooms we have for people to crash in overnight?” Lio bites his lip and the firefighter can’t quite keep his incredulity at bay. “Why would you do that when I’ve got all that space?! You can have your own cupboard! And mug! I’ll even give you the good slippers!”

 _That_ earns him a startled laugh. “...You have _bad_ slippers?”

“It’s got a few holes in it, but it was a present and I’d feel guilty getting rid of it.” 

Lio shakes his head. Then he’s crossing his arms, gaze flickering to the far corner of the room. 

“...I’m not fun to room with,” he says. “I can only cook stuff out of a box, I sleep at stupid hours, if at all, and...sometimes, it gets...messy.” His fingers curl into fists, plucking aggressively at one sleeve. “I’d just keep you up.” 

He still hasn’t said no. 

Emboldened, Galo swings an arm around Lio’s shoulders. The strangled noise the blonde makes when he tugs him close is as hilarious as it is adorable. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about all that, firebug! We’ll figure it out.” 

-

“Galo.” Lio says two hours later, brows raised and voice wary. “Why does your bathroom fan sound possessed?”

“Oh, it does that sometimes. Did you find the spare towels?”

“I did. Doesn’t that...worry you?” As if on cue, the shrill scream rises an octave, wailing its apparent discontent with the world.

“Nah.” Galo shrugs. “You just have to be reassuring and it’ll stop.” 

Lio stares at him. Undeterred, Galo strides past him to poke his head into the bathroom. 

“Shhhhh!” he calls, waving a hand towards the ceiling. “Hey, _hey_ , come on - everything’s alright, I promise!”

The fan splutters. Then, with a whirl and a grumble, the creaking dissipates in favour of regular rattling.

“See? Easy.” Pleased, Galo nudges the bathroom cabinet open. “Do you want a yellow toothbrush or an orange one?”

There’s a huff behind him. He can see Lio’s reflection shake his head in the mirror, a smile curling around his lips. “Yellow’s fine.” 

-

On the second day of their spontaneous cohabitation, Galo is woken up by a scream. 

He’s out of bed and on his feet before he hears the dull _thud_ of impact - the sound of a body falling out of bed. (Or in this case, sofa.)  
Galo pauses before his door, fingers stilling on the doorknob. Behind the wood and peeling paint, he can hear Lio gasping for breath. 

_(Stay with me, stay with me.)_

It takes seven steps to walk across the living room and into the kitchen. The water takes two minutes to boil. The kettle rattles noisily in the dark, just loud enough to drown out the wet sound of knuckles dragging hastily across cheeks.  
Lio’s sat up when he returns, curled into a tight little ball at the far end of the sofa. All Galo can see are stiff shoulders and a mess of blonde hair, his forehead resting on top of drawn-up knees. He doesn’t move when Galo sets down a mug on the table in front of him. Quietly - carefully - he takes a seat on the other end of the couch.  
The minutes trickle by slowly in silence. When the tea is no longer scalding against his tongue, Lio clears his throat. 

“Sorry.” Galo barely catches the words, croaky and heavy with fatigue. “Didn’t mean to wake you.” 

“No worries.” He hopes he sounds convincing enough. “I’d probably be awake either way.”

Galo can’t see Lio’s expression, but he’d bet good money it’s one of scepticism, all furrowed brows and thin lips. He traces an aimless circle over the rim of his mug, weighing his words. 

“I don’t sleep well after big jobs - difficult ones. With casualties.” he finally says. An ambulance drives past the building, sirens drowning the room momentarily in reds and blues. The images flash through his mind again, merciless in their detail. _Cold chrome steel chambers in the heart of Parnassus, hundreds of them._ “Drags up a lot of bad memories. So I stay awake, instead.” His skin prickles with a sudden chill and he can barely suppress his shudder. “Can’t have nightmares if you never fall asleep, right?”

That gets a huff out of the blonde. Slowly - cautiously - Lio’s limbs unwind from their cocoon. He leans forwards, fingers wrapping around the mug. “...That’s one way to do it.”

There’s a fresh bandage wrapped around his right thumb, from base to nail. Galo watches him take a careful sip, nose scrunching at the taste. “...what’s this?”

“It’s a lavender and chamomile mix.” Not quite as effective against sleepless nights as the box promised, but Galo found the ritual of brewing it soothing. “I’ve got others, if you’d like something different?”

“No, this is fine.” Lio murmurs, taking another sip. The lights seeping through the window cast his features in shadow, settling in the valleys of every tired dip and crease. “...thank you.” 

“‘Course.” The smile comes easier this time. ”I told you, didn’t I? I got your back.”

_Through spark and flame._

Lio’s gaze sweeps over him, slow and piercing. Galo’s skin prickles again, hot with the memory of his flames. And then the blonde is ducking his head, body twisting with a rustle of blankets. Galo catches a glimpse of a flushed ear before Lio’s reaching across, fingers clenched into a fist.  
Somehow, he manages not to spill his tea in his haste to return the fistbump. Lio’s fingers are _freezing_ , and Galo can’t help but grab onto them. 

“I’ll dig out the space heater tomorrow.” he murmurs, tightening his grip. For a moment, he wants nothing more than to give Lio’s hand a tug - to pull him close enough to embrace, to hold him as tight as his tired limbs and gravity would allow.

He reaches for the remote instead with his free hand, tugging it free from under a stack of takeout menus. “I’ve got a list of shows I’ve been making my way through. D’you wanna watch one about whales?”

With a scuffle of blankets and a grunt, Lio shifts a little closer. 

“Sure.” 

He doesn’t make a single move to pull his hand away. 

-

Galo wakes up with a crick in his neck. 

The sky is still dark outside, orange rays teasing the horizon. A completely different documentary is playing on the screen, featuring a gentle old man and an oversized insect. His mouth is dry, his toes are cold and his left arm is very, _very_ warm. He glances over just as Lio stirs awake, lifting his head from Galo’s shoulder. 

The firefighter swallows, suddenly _very_ awake. “...Morning.” 

Lio grunts. There’s an imprint of Galo’s hoodie across his cheek, his fringe defying gravity. Despite the grogginess, it doesn’t look like he was awake all night. 

Galo gives him a minute before trying again. “Coffee?”

 _“Please.”_

-

They don’t really talk about it.  
But Lio’s waiting for him in the kitchen at lunchtime, the box in his hands bearing a very familiar logo. 

“I don’t understand how you can eat this stuff _every_ day.” he says as they take a seat in the break room, eyeing the pizza with some trepidation. “Don’t you get tired of it?”

Galo’s full mouth ruins the effect of his scandalised gasp somewhat. His flailing must get his indignation across, though, prompting Lio to snigger. 

“Alright, alright.” He shakes his head, rolling his sleeves up. “I won’t question your torrid love affair with the Inferno Volcano Margherita.”

He watches the blonde squeeze hot sauce all over his slice, brows furrowed in concentration. A sharp little tongue swipes over a much-bitten lip, and the last bite of crust is suddenly a little harder to swallow. 

\---

Galo Thymos doesn’t take promises lightly.

But he probably should have remembered that Lio Fotia has always been unfairly talented at catching him off-guard. 

\---

AN:

It's been three months and these boys still have me compromised.

This is companion fic and a direct sequel to [dreams (have nothing on my reality)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21725800). Reading it first is not necessary but highly recommended (and appreciated)! Title is from the [Poets of the Fall song of the same name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2-HOaIO7Wg). I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the demon living in my bathroom fan - thank you for keeping me company with your unGodly screeching. 

Hope you guys enjoyed - any thoughts are super appreciated <3 Thank you to those who left kudos and comments on my last fic - they made me so, so very happy.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s months after the end of the world, and every day, there’s still reasons for Galo’s heart to beat a little faster.

\---

So.  
Here’s the thing.

At this point in time - post-piloting-a-mech-together, post-saving-the-world-together, post seven-days-of-living-together - Galo feels like he knows Lio fairly well. 

So it’s not entirely unreasonable to expect - to _worry_ \- that Lio will eventually bring up the topic of finding his own place, out of some misplaced sense of obligation. The first few mornings, Galo half-expects to find Lio waiting in the kitchen, bag packed and expression solemn.  
But the days pass. The first week becomes two, and Lio makes no mention of it. 

It leaves Galo in a great mood. The same, however, couldn’t be said about everybody else. 

“I’m just saying, Galo.” Aina says again, lips pressed thin with worry. “No matter how you look at it, it’s all a bit too fast.”

She’s not wrong, but her tone gives him pause, hands braced against his locker. “Don’t you like Lio?”

“I like him just fine, but I don’t _know_ him.” Aina says, just a touch exasperated. “And _you_ don’t, either.”

Galo can only blink because that, in strict fairness, wasn’t true. Surely, when you’ve seen the depths of someone’s heart (locked together in a machine larger than life), felt his soul in the marrow of your bones - 

Felt his flame jump to your defence, even whilst struggling for his own life - 

Surely _then_ , you could say you know them?

But that’s _a lot_ of complicated things to try and put into words, so Galo just nods. Something must bleed into his expression regardless because Aina sighs, expression softening a touch.

“Look, I’m not trying to rain on your parade, okay? You know that, right?” (Galo nods, because he does.) “And it’s not like I don’t like him - I like Lio a lot! I’m just saying - be smart, okay?” She rocks back on her heels, hand lingering on his arm. “Don’t let him walk over you.” 

The words, despite her soft tone, sting a little. But Galo understands. He’s the one who gave Aina reason to worry before, after all.

( _“It’s not that hard.”_ he had said to her on a late night shift, months and months before the end of the world. _“It gets a little complicated, but I don’t mind trying a little harder.”_

_“Galo. It’s not your job to make anyone love you.”_ Aina’s expression had been pinched, the face of a woman who didn’t think that asking about her friend’s love life would lead to this sort of conversation. _“If this guy can’t love you the way you are - for who you are - then he’s not worth your time. And he can fuck right off.”)_

So he gets Aina’s concern, he does. But still - it’s hard to picture Lio taking advantage of him.  
Lio, who still seems reluctant to take up more space than necessary in his apartment, despite the encouragement. Lio, who is hesitant to borrow anything of Galo’s, be it clothes or a laptop. Lio, who seems convinced that he’s still - _still_ \- not giving back enough.

“I won’t.” Galo promises, holding the door open for her. “But I don’t think that’s going to be a problem this time.” 

Just as Aina opens her mouth to reply, an urgent voice rings out from the other room.

“You have to find her before it gets too dark!”

It belongs to a bespectacled little girl, clutching a home-made poster for her missing cat. Crouching in front of her is their previous topic of conversation, with Galo’s jacket draped around his shoulders. 

“I see.” Lio says, nodding very seriously. His thin frame is practically drowning in bright red fabric and Galo’s thoughts all screech to a collective halt. “Thank you for making the poster, it’s going to be very helpful.”

The little girl doesn’t seem terribly reassured. “She usually sleeps in my room - she’s going to get really scared in the dark!” Her lip wobbles, expression crumpling. “Will you tell your Captain about it?”

“Right away, I promise.” Lio is quick to reply, voice warm. He digs a tissue out of his pocket, slipping into the role of reassuring leader in a split second. “And then he’ll give your parents a call if we find something. Okay?”

The little girl sniffs before nodding vigorously. Lio shuffles closer to ask about where she last saw the cat and Galo thinks he might be having a heart attack. He almost jumps when Aina’s shoulder bumps against his arm.

“I changed my mind.” she whispers, eyes wide and gleaming. _“Marry him.”_

-

It takes two hours and a concentrated effort involving five firefighters, three former Burnish, one Rescuemobile and a can of tuna to find the little girl’s cat. Despite his scratched-up hands and exhausted feet, Galo leaves the station with a spring in his step. 

“How does it feel?” he asks as they cross the parking lot. “Being the hero of the day?”

There’s a snort to his left. “Is finding a cat all it takes these days? The bar sure is low.” 

“Hey, don’t knock it!” Galo protests. His attempts to hip-check the other are swiftly evaded, much to his disappointment. “You saw her face!” 

Lio doesn’t reply. When the firefighter glances down, he’s greeted with the softest smile he’s ever seen.  
The wind whips across the parking lot, tugging at the straps of his uniform. Lio’s hand knocks against his own with every step, his skin dry and warm.

It’d be so easy to thread their fingers together. 

Galo swallows a mouthful of brisk air. Then he braces himself, hand smacking against Lio’s shoulder before he breaks into a run. 

“Last one to the bike has to do the washing up!” 

\---

 _So_.  
Here’s the thing.

Being scared _sucks_. 

If there was anything Galo Thymos decidedly wasn’t, it was a _coward._ He was, after all, a firefighter extraordinaire whose soul burned bright enough to save the world from annihilation. Usually, there was no obstacle big enough, no challenge tough enough to deter him from his goal.  
But these days…  
Well, sometimes, Galo can’t help but feel like just a _bit_ of a coward. 

Here he was - heart filled to the brim, stomach full of eager butterflies, an inferno blazing in his soul - with the object of his affections at an arm’s reach. And yet - he keeps holding back, pulling back, swallowing words. Playing it safe.

He tries not to think about it too much - never did him much good, dwelling on things for too long. But the thoughts find him regardless - in the pale blue hours just before dawn and his alarm, in the quiet spaces of dull inventory management and paperwork. Aina’s warnings echo in his ear, alongside another voice he would much, much rather forget. 

_(You’ve been an eyesore from the moment I met you.)_

Is his promise - to take things slow, to be considerate - _really_ guided by concern for Lio?   
Or is he just trying - desperately - not to be _too much?_

\---

“Heave-ho - “

Tightening his grip, Galo gives the fabric a careful tug. Two nerve-wrecking minutes of manoeuvring later, the blanket slips free of Lio’s sweaty grasp. He quickly drapes another quilt over the blonde’s sleeping form before tiptoeing out of the room.  
He wouldn’t want to risk waking him _now_. 

_“This,” Lio declares in a strained voice, “is_ **_demeaning_** _.”_

_The complaint is lodged from the depths of a quilt and three blankets, encasing the former Burnish in a snug burrito. Sitting atop the pile is Galo, arms crossed and expression determined._

_“You left me no choice!”_

_“What kind of trained EMT sits on people?!” Lio demands, making another attempt to somehow squirm free. If Galo wasn’t so worried about the blonde’s spiking temperature, he would have been impressed by the sheer tenacity. “Do you treat all your patients like this?”_

_“Just the ones who actively fight me and their recovery this hard!” the firefighter is quick to retort. “You tried to climb out of the_ **_window_** _!”_

_“I have three meetings today!”_

_“You have a_ **_fever_ ** _and I’m not moving! Accept your defeat, Lio Fotia, and go to sleep already!”_

It had taken an hour and a lot of shouting, but eventually, Lio’s exhaustion had won out. The changing seasons hadn’t been kind to his body, and his reckless work schedule had only made things worse. Frankly, Galo muses as he tips the laundry basket into the washing machine, it’s a surprise he hadn’t gotten sick sooner. 

He wanders back when he hears the tell-tale rattling of the cycle coming to an end. He’s greeted by a grumpy pile of blankets and messy hair, crouching precariously in front of the washing machine. 

“Why are you out of bed?!” Galo cries. The pile shifts, revealing a rumpled face and sleep-sticky eyes. 

“You stole my blanket.”

“I left you another one! That one was all gross!”

Lio sniffs, unimpressed. “I’m _attached_ to that one.” he rasps. “You don’t understand our _bond_ , Galo Thymos.” 

His cheeks are still pale, nose rubbed red and dry. The sleeves of Galo’s old sports jersey tumble past his fingers, no matter how many times he pushes them to his elbows. Galo leans against the doorway, gripping the empty laundry basket, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to make _more soup_. 

“If I make you tea, will you forgive me?”

“...if it’s that strawberry cheesecake flavoured one, I’ll consider it.” 

\---

“Let’s go get a burger!”

Lowering his tablet, Lio fixes him with a look usually reserved for grant applications spanning twenty pages. “...it’s two in the morning.”

“Yep!” Galo confirms cheerfully. He’s already on his feet and tying his shoelaces. “Best time for a cheeseburger!”

Lio’s frowns, deeply unconvinced. He’d moved to the table from the couch since his initial attempts at sleep, his hasty braid now a haphazard ponytail. Undeterred, Galo holds the blonde’s jacket out expectantly. 

“Come oooon.” he cajoles, like he’s coaxing a particularly stubborn cat. He gives the jacket a little shake. “It’s been three hours, you can have a break.” 

Lio narrows his eyes. Just like two days ago, his nails dig into the flesh of his palm, shoulders a tense line under his sweater. 

_“You don’t have to keep doing this every time.”_

_Galo glances away from the screen, muffling a yawn behind his hand. “Doing what?”_

_“Staying up with me.” There’s an unexpected weight to Lio’s tone, an uncomfortable tenseness in his spine. “The whole - “ He waves an impatient hand at the table - the mugs, the flickering screen, the messy pile of crumpled tissues. Galo follows his line of sight, dread settling heavy in his gut._

_“...do you want some space? Time alone? Cuz I can - ”_

_“No!” The reply is sharper than expected, prompting them both to flinch. “It’s not that - it’s - “ Lio huffs, frustrated, fingers clenching in his lap. He looks ready to bolt out the door at a moment’s notice._

_(Back always pressed against a wall, no matter what room he’s in, only ever taking the seat closest to the best means of escape.)_

_“...It’s not your job to fix me, Galo.”_

_On the screen, the camera plunges underwater, flooding the room in soft blue light. Lio takes another deep breath and Galo hates how easily he can relate to the pain in the blonde’s voice._

_“I know.” he says. The couch creaks as their knees bump together. “I just want to keep you company.”_

Lio lets out a frustrated breath, fingers clenching in his lap. Then, with a shrug, he gets to his feet. 

“What the hell.” The jacket is unceremoniously yanked from Galo’s grip. “This burger better be _that_ good, Galo Thymos.”

Galo leaps to snatch his keys up, shock swiftly replaced with excitement.

This was the _best_ idea he’s ever had.

-

This was the _worst_ idea he’s ever had.

“Holy _fuck_.” Lio whispers in awe. He bites into his burger with the grace of a starved hyena, inhaling one half in three bites. There’s mustard smeared across his fingers and down his cheek, the tip of his nose glistening with ketchup. The wind had tugged his hair loose, tousling it into a floppy mess.

He’s like a starved racoon in human form and Galo’s _dying_.

“I take back everything I said.” Lio says, words muffled. He takes another bite and the noise he makes is _borderline pornographic_. “You were right, this is _incredible_.” 

“See? Told you.” Galo manages. Despite his hammering heart, Lio’s expression still makes him puff with pride. “Cheeseburgers always taste the best at two in the morning!”

That gets him a snort. “Really now.” Lio tilts his head, eyes glinting. “Wisdom from your old college days? Former keg stand champion Galo Thymos, life and soul of the party?”

_What._

“Where did that come from?!” Galo exclaims. From the corner of his eye, he sees the cook shoot their table an amused look. “I’ll have you know I took studying very seriously!” He brandishes a french fry to make his point. “Spent more time at the library than my dorm room.”

He did freshers’ week and let his friends drag him to the occasional party, sure. But there were always tests and exams to cram for, scholarships to maintain. People to impress.  
Well. One person. 

He’d been so _determined_ back then, almost bursting at the seams with the desire to do good, to get good, to get better, become the _best_. To be recognised - to be _seen_ for what he could do.  
He remembers the weight of it - Kray’s good faith and expectations - and how proud he had been to carry it. So eager to tell the world just what a _great person_ Kray Foresight was - and prove how his faith in Galo wasn’t misplaced.

Lio cackles and Galo is grateful to be pulled back into the present.

“Now _there’s_ an image. Galo Thymos, resident library dweller!” the blonde says, stealing Galo’s napkin. Somehow, both his sleeves are still pristine and mustard-free. “...I bet you were so cute.”

“I was _adorable_.” Galo says, because he _was_. He hopes the flush on his cheeks isn’t too obvious in the dark. “I’ll show you my yearbook - remind me when we get back home.” 

Lio’s stills for a moment. And then he’s ducking his head, expression melting into something tentative and warm. 

“Alright,” he says, voice devastatingly soft. A knee bumps against Galo’s under the table, sticky fingers brushing against his own. “I’ll do just that.”

\---

Two weeks later, Lio sets his mug down in the sink with firm determination. 

“I want to buy a cactus.” 

Sponge and plate in hand, Galo blinks. 

“...will that fit through the door?” Briefly, he pictures a two-tier desert cactus next to the sofa. As if reading his mind, Lio snorts. 

“One of those small ones.” he says. He shoves his hands deep into his hoodie’s - Galo’s old hoodie, frayed ends brushing Lio’s thighs - pockets. “...It’d look good in the living room.” 

His throat bobs with a hasty swallow. His cheeks are dusted red and Galo wants nothing more than to kiss him. 

“Can we buy a succulent too?” 

“...Sure.”

“And can we get those neon coloured flower pots to put them in? In pink and teal! I’m sure the dollar store sells some fire-shaped stickers too…”

“You’re ridiculous.” Sharp hipbones bump against his own before deft fingers are easing the now-clean plate out of his hands. “Deal.”

\---

“Wrench.”

Standing on his tiptoes, Galo deposits the wrench in Lucia’s palm. Next to his elbow, Vinny squeaks his approval. 

Pushing her goggles in place, Lucia tightens the screw with a grunt. “How does that look?”

Galo takes a step back, considering the mech-in-progress from different angles. “...kinda small?”

Lucia huffs. “I _told you_ \- this is the biggest gun the Captain will let me put on her.” She considers the new upgrade, smile twisting from annoyed to _scheming_. “For _now_.”

“...Can we put more lights on it though?”

“ _Duh._ Pass me the screwdriver.”

She disappears from view, mutterings lost in the clicks and clangs. Vinny scampers along the table, searching for abandoned treats under scraps of paper. Dutifully, Galo takes a picture. 

“Sooooo.” Lucia sings after a pause, shit-eating grin audible in her tone. “Have you kissed and made up yet?”

Galo promptly drops his phone. He gets a cackle for his troubles.

“Pretty boy still not talking to you then?”

“I mean, he called me a coward and a dirty cheater in the kitchen earlier, so he’s technically talking to me?”

Lucia hums sagely. “That’s the burden the Tekken Night Champions must bear, Galo. Don’t let the sore losers get you down.”

He nods because, _fuck yeah_ , he won fair and square and Lio should acknowledge his victory. On the other hand, his now-roommate stubbornness was legendary, and he didn’t much like the prospect of not being talked to for the foreseeable future. 

From her perch, Lucia snorts.

“You should bring him a coffee with your shirt off.” She gives the screwdriver a little twirl, brows waggling. “Caffeine with a lil’ gun show on the side!” 

“...you think that’ll work?”

“Tell you what - if it doesn’t, I’ll go ahead with your soda-dispenser-in-the-cockpit idea.” 

-

Lio snaps a pencil in two halfway through the show, ordering him to get out of his office before Galo can get to the Grand Gun Finale. When he bumps into the blonde by the sink an hour later, the tips of his ears are still red. 

“Enjoy your victory while you can, Galo Thymos.” Lio sniffs. He wags a soapy finger in his direction. “Dirty cheats or not, I _will_ crush you next week.” 

It’s both a threat and a promise, packaged with just a hint of a smirk. When Lio flicks a wet hand in his direction, Galo evades it easily. 

“Bring it on, firebug! I’ll be ready.” 

\---

Galo usually loves mornings.  
He loves the colours, the sounds, the sharp scents of a waking world. He loves the freshness that comes with a new day, full of potential and possibilities.

On Thursday morning, he wakes up three hours before his alarm.  
His head throbs with a dull ache, thoughts overwhelmingly _noisy_. His limbs protest at every attempt to move, much too heavy for his body, and he can tell it was going to be one of _those_ days. 

(Again.) 

Somehow, he drags himself out of bed and tiptoes out of his apartment, breaking into a run as soon as his feet hit the pavement. He jogs past the still-shut cafes and corner stores, their windows still dark and shutters drawn. He runs past the bus stops, filled with people coming off the night shift. He runs until the street lights flicker off and his lungs _burn_ , muscles in his legs aching with every step.

He doesn’t expect the lights to be on in the kitchen when he creeps back an hour later. The kettle is already rattling away and Lio is perched on the counter. 

“Morning.” he says, gaze too-sharp for his casual tone. “You’re up early.”

“Morning!” Galo trills, with as much enthusiasm as his breathless voice can muster. “Yeah, you know me - like to get a few laps in before work!”

Lio glances at the microwave clock, declaring it to be just shy of four in the morning. He doesn’t say anything, though. He hops off the counter when the kettle whistles and Galo breathes an inward sigh of relief. 

He’s halfway through his coffee and some random article about alligators when Lio clears his throat. 

“...Is something on your mind?”

His voice is quiet, careful. It still sends an uncomfortable shiver down Galo’s spine. “...huh?”

“You’ve been going on a lot of runs before dawn lately.” Lio taps a nail against the table, eyes narrowing a fraction. “When you’re supposed to be taking it easy, too.” 

His glance dips between them and Galo squirms, guiltily folding his legs out of view. The bruises still lingered, a painful reminder of last week’s mech malfunction. Despite the lack of fractures, Ignis had still insisted on mandatory rest, restricting him to simple tasks around the station.

“I’m fine,” he says. He shifts and his leg throbs mournfully. “Just - getting a bit antsy. I don’t like being benched.”

Lio hums. Galo resists the urge to cross his arms.

“...It’s okay if you’re not.” Slender fingers tighten around painted porcelain. There’s a new bandage around Lio’s right thumb, a blue band-aid patterned with cartoon stars. “Fine, I mean.” 

Galo wants to nod. Then he wants to scowl, shrug, protest. _(Because it’s not, not really - he doesn’t have time to not be okay, to get stuck down dwelling on things he cannot change, when there’s so much happening in the present, so much riding on the future - )  
_ He does neither. 

He can feel Lio’s gaze on him, narrowed and heavy. Then the blonde clears his throat again. 

“There’s an empty warehouse about twenty minutes from here. We could go and set something on fire, if you want.” 

Galo whips his head up, incredulous. “Why would I wanna do that?!”

“Well, you clearly don’t wanna talk about it. So.” Lio shrugs, as if the jump to therapeutic arson was perfectly logical. “We could take my rejected proposals and the fire extinguisher along. Make a day of it.” 

Laughter bubbles from his throat, horrified and helpless. “ _Wow._ Man - you sure know what to say to a firefighter.”

Lio just smiles. His gaze lingers over Galo’s lips before he’s pushing himself to his feet. 

“No pressure.” Fingers skid across the table, knuckles bumping lightly against Galo’s clenched hand in passing. “But - I hope you know you can talk to me about these things. If you want to.” 

And then he’s gone, padding out of the kitchen in a flurry of blonde hair and silent steps. A few seconds later, the bathroom door clicks shut.  
In his bedroom, his alarm starts ringing and Galo remembers to _breathe_. 

-

If there was one thing all of Galo’s former teachers and superiors could agree on, it would be that Galo was excellent at executing a plan. Whether the outcome was successful or not, no one could call his prep work anything but meticulous. 

He raps his knuckles against the doorway before nudging it open. “Ding ding. Delivery!”

Lio lifts his head and his eyes light up. Whether it’s because of him or the take-out bags cradled in his arms, Galo isn’t sure. 

“...I don’t remember ordering anything.” 

“Must have slipped your mind, Big Boss!” He drops the bags between a pile of folders and a stack of reports before taking his customary seat opposite Lio. “How’s the council?”

“Slow and stubborn, per usual.” Lio tosses his pen on the pile before tearing the paper bag in two. “...How are your legs?”

“Fine.” The words ring a little truer this time. “A bit sore.” 

Lio nods, momentarily appeased. Galo watches him decimate two kebabs before taking a deep breath. 

“I’ve been having a hard time. Lately. With...thinking about things that are important to me.”

Lio’s gaze is on him immediately, mouth pursed mid-chew. Galo finds himself wishing he’d prepared that accompanying presentation after all. 

“I - It’s just - I love my job.” 

Lio blinks. Swallows his kebab. “I know you do.”

“Cuz it’s the _best!_ I love that I get to save people, and pilot mechs and drive around in the truck. I love that we get to teach people about safety. I love that I got to meet - “ _Family. Friends. The other half of my burning soul._ “...meet the people most important to me through Burning Rescue. It’s basically everything I ever wanted.” Lio’s pen somehow makes its way into his hand, thumb flicking at the lid with increasing anxiety. “But - the reason I’m here...the reason why I wanted this job _so badly_ was all because of _him_.” 

( _That’s what you get,_ a voice murmurs in the back of his mind, dripping with frosty condescension, _for_ **_wanting_ ** _things so bad. Shouldn’t you know better by now?_ )

“He put me on this team. He gave me the idea back then - gave me a goal to work towards. And - knowing this all thanks to him - it’s not great to think about.”

Silence drips by, every second an eternity. When Galo chances a glance towards the desk, Lio’s eyes are _burning_. 

“...he might have put you on the team, but you proved yourself and became part of it all on your own.” Despite his clenched fists, the former Burnish’s voice is level, steady. “Your skills - your bravery, your kindness, your drive to help others, your ridiculous memory for protocol - that’s all _you_ , Galo. And that has _fuck all_ to do with Foresight.”

Galo thinks he swallows. There’s a dull roar of his own pulse in his ears, a prickling of heat along his neck. 

“...you think so?”

“I know so.” Lio says, words ringing with near-aggressive sincerity. He squares his shoulders, as if gearing up to fight the mere concept of Kray Foresight and the aftermath of his shitty actions. “And besides - Ignis would have found a way to get rid of you, if he didn’t want you in his team.”

“...probably.” Galo concedes. That’s a fair point, if a little unsettling. He leans forwards to grab his own kebab, feeling a thousand times lighter and suddenly _ravenous_. Gloved fingers nudge a hot sauce packet within reach. 

“You would have become the world’s number one firefighter either way. With or without Kray.” 

Aina had said something similar a little while ago - face a little flushed with wine, shoulder pressed comfortably against his own. It had been long past midnight, and he’d found himself maybe even agreeing a little with the sentiment.

But.  
But, but, _but._

“But it _had_ to be this way.” he blurts out. The words curdle on his tongue, heavy and bitter. “That - that part was important.” 

He doesn’t know why, but it suddenly seems important to tell Lio that part. Even if it will no doubt upset him - even if it will make the former Burnish think less of him.   
Lio deserves the whole truth. 

“Him - entrusting me with this role and me becoming the best - it meant the world to me back then.” The swell of shame accompanying the confession is weary and familiar. “I guess, for a long time, he was everything I had? And knowing that there was someone out there who was counting on me - who I needed to support and impress - got me through a lot.” 

A strangled noise escapes Lio. His expression is difficult for Galo to decipher, save for the slight tremble to his tightly-pressed lips. 

“I’m sorry.” he says immediately, throat tight with guilt. “It’s so stupid and naive - “

“ _Don’t -_ “ Lio sucks in a sharp breath, shaking his head. There’s a scrape of wood across the floor and a flurry of sharp limbs - and then Galo’s suddenly enveloped in warmth, strong arms winding around his shoulders and tugging him against a heaving chest. 

“Don’t apologise.” Lio says against his ear, voice a little too raw for comfort. Sticky fingers settle against his nape, gripping the back of Galo’s shirt for dear life. “Don’t ever apologise for what you had to do to survive.” 

-

On Friday morning, he wakes up two hours before his alarm.  
His head feels a little heavy, dull static crackling through his mind. His legs ache in protest as he rolls onto his side, skin hot and itchy under the bandages.

(It’s a little easier today, taking that first step out of bed.)

He doesn’t expect the lights to be on in the kitchen when he tiptoes out of his bedroom. The kettle is already rattling away and Lio is perched on the counter. 

“Morning.” he says, eyes sharp behind his mug. “You’re up early.”

“Morning.” Galo yawns. “Legs woke me up. M’getting itchy under the bandages.”

Lio’s lips twitch, glancing at the microwave clock declaring it to be just shy of five in the morning. He doesn’t say anything, though, hopping off the counter when the kettle whistles.

Galo’s halfway through his coffee and a compilation video of cute dogs when Lio clears his throat. 

“Look. About yesterday.” His voice is quiet, careful. It prompts an nervous shiver down Galo’s spine, like a cold finger tracing down his back. “I just wanted to say that - there's nothing shameful about them."

Lio’s throat bobs with a swallow. The bandage around his thumb has faded in colour since the day before, edges starting to peel away. 

Galo licks his lips, unable to look away. “...them?”

"Your feelings.” Lio clarifies. Slender fingers tighten around painted porcelain. “It’s - they’re not - stupid or naive. The only stupid one - completely undeserving - is _him_."

There’s heat simmering in his voice, like embers moments before they’re stoked aflame. The kitchen light colours his hair into something precious and near-translucent, violet gaze _burning_ through the tiny room and into what feels like Galo’s very core. 

“Anyone would be lucky to be loved by you.”

\---

Galo likes his flat.

He likes its east-facing windows and how they tempt the sun to stay and linger all year round. He likes the bright blue curtains and the terribly comfortable navy sofa, hauled up the stairs by four cursing firefighters. He likes his army of charity-shop pillows scattered across the rooms, blazing in all shades of the rainbow. He likes the kitchen and its magnet-covered fridge, with his lumpy wok and extensive plastic-cup collection. He even likes the bathroom, with its haunted extractor fan and spluttery showerhead that seems Hell-bent on ruining Lio’s morning at least once a week. 

It’s _home_.

It wasn’t always.

It’s a far cry from the dark, empty apartment he’d accepted the keys to, freshly qualified and in urgent need of accommodation. The landlady’s expression was unreadable back then, lips pinched and eyes guarded. Her gaze had flickered between his hair (haphazard and in dire need of a trim) and his single suitcase (frayed, battered and covered in stickers). She’d reminded him twice that she would _not_ tolerate loud parties and vandalism of any sort before striding off, heels sharp against the corridor tiles. 

(They’re on a first name basis, these days. On sunny mornings, she waves him off from the balcony, coffee in one hand and watering can in the other.)

Not that she had much to worry about - Galo didn’t like spending much of his time there. After the countless orphanages and dorm rooms, the apartment was shockingly lonely.  
It made him all the more grateful for the job. A newbie’s responsibilities at Burning Rescue stretched far and wide, and Galo eagerly threw himself into it all.

There were hard days, of course. Days that left him with aching muscles and a sore spine, drained enough to fall asleep on shaky feet. But the good days were _amazing_ , leaving him exhilarated and excited and so, _so_ satisfied. 

There were bad days too, of course. Days with stupid mistakes and scoldings, with twisted ankles and scalded lungs, every breath tasting like smoke. Days with harried ambulance rides and sombre debriefings, where the knowledge that he _tried his best_ offered little respite. 

And then there were days that saw him sitting in Ignis’ office, shaky hands hidden in his lap and ears still ringing from the sirens.

“Thymos.”

The captain’s voice is steely, expression inscrutable behind the glasses. Galo tries to swallow past the lump in his throat.

He really fucked up this time. 

“Just to confirm - you _did_ hear my orders to wait for backup, didn’t you?” Ignis waits until Galo manages a nod. “And _then_ you ignored them and rushed into a blazing building that was about to come down.” His chair creaks as the captain leans back, arms crossed across his chest. “If it hadn’t been for Remi and Aina, you’d be in the ER right now.” 

Galo can only nod again. Under his jacket, his hastily bandaged shoulder throbs painfully.

“Explain.”

It takes a few tries to get his tongue working. “...children.” 

Ignis’ frown deepens. Whether it’s because of his croaky tone or his words, Galo doesn’t know. 

“I heard - when Lucia said they were still inside…” His mouth is dry, so dry. “The response time for the backup was so _long_ , and the bricks were already crumbling and it was _going to be too late_ and I just - “ 

The panic thrums through his veins once more, ice-cold and paralysing. He blinks and he can feel the heat on his skin again - the sweat on his hands as he gripped the controls tighter, all sounds a dull roar save for the frantic pulse of his own heartbeat in his ears - 

“Galo. _Galo._ Look at me.” 

He blinks again, the room snapping back into focus. For a long moment, Ignis considers him in silence. 

“...I’ve been in this business for a very long time now. After the Great Blaze, you’d be hard pressed to find a kind of fire I haven’t been called out to.” 

Galo nods, confused by the sudden shift in topic. His heart is still hammering against his rib, the fabric of his gloves now damp from sweaty palms.

“The only thing that matters to me - above everything else - is keeping people safe.” Ignis’ fingers drum against the desk, slow and precise. There’s a thick gold band on his left hand, well-loved and gleaming in the lamplight. Galo wonders why he never noticed it before. “That goes for both the people out there, and the ones in my team.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. “...Captain, I - “

Ignis holds up a hand and Galo promptly snaps his mouth shut. 

“...I can promise that I’ll always do everything I can to give you reason to trust me. But in return, I need to know that my team trusts my judgement, and will _listen_ to me when I make the call. Do you understand?”

There’s a terrible sort of patience to his words, an unexpected warmth under the stern tone. Somehow, it’s a thousand times worse than any shouting or reprimand he’d been expecting. 

“...yes, Captain.” 

After a long pause, Ignis nods. 

“Get a ride back home. You shouldn’t be driving after a day like this.” he says, shoulders slumping with a sigh. Galo takes that as a cue to take his leave.  
He hesitates in the doorway.

 _Will he know,_ he wants to ask. Will Ignis tell Kray when he asks for an update on his progress? Will he tell Kray how he failed the most basic of protocols, endangering several people in the process? 

The question claws at his throat, begging for release. His grip tightens on the doorknob.

“...g’night, Captain.”

-

Tomorrow comes much too fast and far too slow. Galo moves through his morning rituals in a haze, thoughts an anxious cocktail of exhaustion and _what-ifs_. He doesn’t notice he’s got company until his fellow firefighter waves a hand in front of his face. 

“You’re real quiet today.” Varys says, expression a little troubled. “Did the Captain chew you out that badly last night?”

“No.” Galo manages. “I mean, _yeah_ , but - ”

Varys chuckles. And then there’s a hand on top of his head, ruffling his hair in a merciless noogie. “It was well-deserved, huh?”

Galo squawks because _that hair takes a lot of time to get this cool, thank you very much. “Oi!”_

Varys releases him once the mohawk has been thoroughly destroyed, looking much too pleased with himself. 

“Better take that to heart then.” He pauses, expression turning a shade more serious. “Firefighting’s not a solo gig, newbie. You better remember that.” 

”Say it louder! Maybe then he’ll actually get the message!” a voice snaps from the doorway. Aina’s gaze sweeps over them as she walks round the sofa, narrow-eyed and sharp-scowled. Her knuckles rap against the back of Galo’s head before she sits down next to them. 

“...how’s your shoulder? Did you sleep okay last night?”

Despite her frown, Galo can hear the concern in her voice. It settles in his sternum, hot and heavy. 

“It’s fine.” he says, flexing them to prove the point. “...Thanks for pulling my dumb ass out yesterday, Aina.” 

Aina’s eyes widen, cheeks flushing with fluster. 

“Don’t do it again!” she huffs, knocking the toe of her sneaker against his shin. There’s barely any force behind the motion. “And you can thank me by helping me hammer that dent out of my poor jet!”

Varys bursts into laughter and Galo finds it surprisingly easy to join in. 

“Aye aye, m’am!” 

-

Galo’s shoulders heal. The children get released from the hospital, the smouldering remains of their burnt-down house long-gone. Meticulous hands flip the common-room calendar into summer.  
A month after the talk in the office - two months after Kray’s last message to him - Lucia spins her chair around with a gleam in her eye. 

“Alright, newbie! It’s movie night week, and it’s your turn to host!”

The announcement is followed by scattered cheers across the rec room. Mouth full, Galo can only blink as their resident scientist continues. 

“Now remember, there’s _still_ a ban on all Sharknado and Twilight films. And we’re one viewing away from maxing out the annual Pacific Rim limit, so we should probably save that for now. And also - ” 

Swallowing, Galo quickly considers his options. Fitting six people (and one rat) comfortably into his living room would be a challenge, but not an impossible one. He could amass the total number of pillows in the house (three) and maybe buy a few lawn chairs from the supermarket before his shift tomorrow, along with a bunch of paper plates - 

“Is there a problem?”

“Huh?” Galo snaps back to attention to find everyone staring at him. “Oh no! That’s cool! Was just thinking I’m gonna need to get a TV before the weekend then!”

Silence descends over the rec room. Galo reaches for a napkin. 

“And maybe chairs too…” he muses aloud, glancing at Lucia for confirmation. Her eyebrows crawl to unprecedented heights. “Or a sofa? Is a sofa better?” 

“Galo.” Aina’s voice is slow and measured. “When...did you move into your apartment?”

“Few weeks before I started working here!”

“That was _months_ ago!” she splutters. Her coffee swirls dangerously with the motion. “You still don’t have a TV? Or a sofa?”

“They’re not everyone’s priority, Aina.” Remi replies before Galo can, swiping at the screen of his phone. “I’ve got a projector, we could always just hook it up to a laptop.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Varys says, giving the basketball in his hands a spin. “Why don’t we go take a look at the place tonight? I’m sure we can do something without you having to go on a big shopping trip.” 

-

“I was wrong.” Varys declares to his living room. “There is absolutely _nothing_ I can do with this.” He inspects the rickety chair in the corner before turning to Galo, eyes wide. “Where is your _stuff?!_ ”

“At least he’s not sleeping on the floor.” Remi says from the bedroom. He bends down to give the bedframe a cautious nudge, grimacing at the resulting creak. 

“Galo!” Aina’s head appears in the bathroom doorway, brandishing a bottle. “Why are you using a 3-in-1 shampoo-conditioner-body wash?!”

“...Efficiency?”

Aina shudders. In the kitchen, Lucia nudges the fridge shut with a scowl.

“Okay. This is _depressing_. I thought you’d have like, a million matoi posters everywhere! Figurines! A nerdy fridge magnet, at the very least!”

“No wonder you keep sleeping in the _truck_.” Aina mutters, foot tapping against the floor in an agitated rhythm. “You can’t live like this!”

She’s out of the room before Galo can open his mouth, tapping away on her phone. As Varys and Lucia exchange determined glances, Remi clears his throat.

“Sit down and let me see your monthly budget.” He moves to take a seat on the floor, tablet already in hand. “And clear your schedule for the weekend.” 

-

In the span of three days, Galo learns a _lot_ about wood textures, furniture construction and how the width of his front door is not suited for deliveries _at all_. He also makes a bunch of new acquaintances in the hardware shop, the local charity foundation and the helpful staff manning the labyrinthian corridors of IKEA.  
He also becomes the owner of a bookcase, a proper mattress, two tables, three more chairs than strictly necessary, a small army of pillows and a sofa so comfortable it should have been illegal. 

“Little bit to the left.” Lucia calls from the top of the counter. She hums as Galo and Varys move the shelf, heels smacking against the cabinet. “Right there!”

Wiping a hand across his forehead, Galo gives himself a moment to take it all in - the warm colours, the plush fabrics, the gleam of glass and the glitter of metal. There is cardboard and bubble wrap scattered everywhere, unopened boxes stacked neatly under the window. Aina strides past them, obnoxiously-patterned shower curtain in hand, reminding them Ignis will be there soon with lunch. When Galo ducks inside his bedroom for a fresh shirt, he finds Remi kneeling on the floor, smoothing anti-slip stickers on the bottom of his new carpet. 

“Bit of an overkill, don’t you think?”

He gets a snort and an ominous glint of glasses in response. “Trust me. You’ll thank me later.” 

\---

Remi’s proven right, of course.

Months and months and the end of the world later, Lio shoves Galo against the bedroom door with reckless abandon, gripping his wrists and kissing him like their lives depended on it. Underneath their hasty feet, the carpet remains perfectly steady. 

“Fuck,” Lio whispers against his lips, breath hot and rapid. He sounds like a ragged victor of a marathon, like an explorer who’s been presented with the spoils of his wildest dreams. A thigh presses between his legs and Galo can only _keen_ with the sudden rush of friction.

“ _Fuck,_ ” Lio whispers again, voice strangled. His fingers release one wrist in favour of curling around the back of his neck, snagging in his hair. “Fuck, Galo - “ 

There’s a _tug,_ and it’s so easy to tip his head back, melting under Lio’s heated stare. There’s tongue at his collarbone, nails at his scalp, teeth at his earlobe with just enough _bite_ to make him moan.

“I want you naked.” There’s something in Lio’s tone that brings fanged masks and shimmering Burnish armour to mind, and it sends all of Galo’s blood rushing south. “ _Now._ ”

It takes a moment to knock his world back into axis, to command shaky lungs and weak knees into action. He drags in a jittery breath and feels Lio’s grip slacken, body stilling against his own.

“...Is that okay?”

The words are soft, gilded with caution. Galo’s heart stutters in adoration.

“Yeah - ” he manages. His lips find the curve of Lio’s frown, peppering it with messy kisses until the blonde is all splutters and helpless laughter. “Yeah, yeah, _yes,_ let me just - “

There’s a lot of stumbling and tugging on clothes, with a brief detour to free flailing limbs stuck in a shirt. There’s muffled giggles and sharp exhalations, a half-swallowed praise to a deity for a _job well done_. There’s kissing and greedy hands sliding over bare skin and _more_ kissing, sweet and filthy and _warm_.

It’s all too easy to lose himself in Lio - the low timbre of his voice, the sharp scent of his skin, the _hunger_ behind every touch. It’s both overwhelming and just _right_ \- just a natural progression of _them_. The obvious conclusion of the months and months of living together, working together, learning each other. A culmination of every brush of skin, every lingering glance, every shared touch. Of every late night that saw them curled around each other, every conversation that saw their fingers twisted together. 

Somehow, they end up on the bed. The sheets are cool against Galo’s back, slippery in his shaky grasp. Above him, Lio bites back a groan. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, licking his lips. With cruel precision, he twists his fingers deeper and Galo’s vision goes hazy. “Does that feel good?”

 _Yes,_ he wants to say, with all the enthusiasm he can muster, _yes, yes, it feels so good_. He wants to reach up and drag him closer, wants to whisper in Lio’s ear just how _beautiful_ he looks right now - with his swollen lips and wide-blown pupils and hair in disarray. He wants to tell him just how many weeks’ worth of fantasies he’s been hoarding about getting to kiss him, and how they all pale in comparison to reality. But his tongue is useless and his breath is too short and he can only arch closer, urging Lio for _more, more, more_. 

Clever fingers drag over his prostate and his dick twitches against his stomach, spilling a spurt of precum across his abdomen. With a hum, Lio stills his hand and dips his head to lick Galo’s stomach clean. 

“What do you want, Galo?” The words are a purr against his hip, low and hungry. There’s a hand caressing his chest, a faint tickle of hair brushing against his thigh. 

“Can I - “ Galo pants, licking his lips. “Can I - “

 _More of that,_ he wants to say, _everything you were just doing._ He wants Lio to kiss him again. He wants to touch him, to curl himself around the blonde’s body, committing every detail to memory. He wants to taste him, swallow him whole - he wants to know what makes Lio’s eyes burn and his body shake, wants to learn every single way to make him feel good. 

He lifts a shaky hand, reaching for the blonde. Lio moves to meet him immediately, cheek pressing into Galo’s palm. 

“Tell me, Galo.” he murmurs. There’s a kiss against his wrist before thighs are bracketing his hips, a burning body pressed flush against his own. “Ask me for anything.” 

Transfixed, Galo reaches to brush the blonde’s bangs back. Sucking in a sharp breath, Lio leans in close enough to kiss again. 

“Let me give you _everything_.” 

\---

AN: 

Thank you so, so much for the lovely comments and the kudos on the last chapter! I really, really appreciated them all <3 I would also like to thank every artist/writer that creates content of Lio rescuing cats - it fuels me. 

Hope you guys enjoyed - any thoughts are super appreciated <3


	3. Chapter 3

It’s months after the end of the world, and every day, there’s still things that take Galo by surprise.

\---

There were many long standing, time honoured traditions at Burning Rescue. Secret Santas and donation drives in the winter, beach clean-ups in the summer and school field trips in the autumn. The bi-weekly movie nights, however, were easily Galo’s favourite. 

It was a simple arrangement - everyone would take their turn hosting and picking the movie. Complaining was to be kept to a minimum after the opening credits rolled. The host provided the snacks and the guests supplied the drinks. Helping with the clean-up was compulsory. As of last Halloween, movies with realistic giant spiders were banned and Godzilla marathons were limited to one per year.   
It was always a cosy sort of affair, with cramped sofas and popcorn-greased fingers. Galo loved the whole ritual and _anticipation_ of it - not knowing if he was walking into a night of aching ribs, damp eyes or baffling confusion, followed by hours of infuriated debates. 

It was also a really fun way to get to know his friends better - sandwiched between Remi’s pointy elbows and Lucia’s glare as the latter ranted about how this _wasn’t how physics worked, dammit_.

_(“It’s like no one bothered to even check the Wiki!” she huffs. Bare feet scuffing against the floor, she pushes her indoor swing into annoyed motion._

_Stabbing the straw into his juicebox, Galo’s eyes follow the line of rope to the ceiling. Despite its flimsy appearance, the swing was sturdy enough to hold two. (Or, on one memorable occasion, a tipsy ex-Mad Burnish Leader and his two generals.) “It would have taken five minutes, tops!“_

_“You_ **_know_ ** _most people watch this for the explosions and not the science, right?” Remi sighs. He gives Lucia’s latest dubious snack a cautious sniff. The jelly wobbles on his plate, glistening and frighteningly pink._

_“Still! You can’t just slap ‘quantum physics’ over every shitty sci-fi plothole and call it a day!” Lucia insists. “Especially when there aren’t even any boobs to distract you from them!”_

_She had a point._

_On the far side of the room, amidst the mouse tunnel system that spanned the whole apartment, Varys snorts._

_“If that annoys you so much, why’d you keep picking trashy horror and sci-fi flicks?”_

_He...also had a point._

_“‘Attack of the Killer Tomatoes’ is_ **_far_ ** _too superior to be labelled as just a B-movie, and - “_

 _“Oh my God, just put it on already!”)_

In regards to the movies themselves, Galo thought he was fairly easy to please. As long as the film lacked giant spiders and had a little _something_ that impressed him, he was happy.

_“It isn’t hard to impress someone who’s only been to the cinema a grand total of like, five times.” Aina says one rainy afternoon, smiling despite her dry tone. “Seriously, how did you manage to avoid seeing_ **_Star Wars_ ** _for so long?”_

_Galo shrugs, settling deeper into the patchwork beanbag. “I had a really short attention span and a dorm with a curfew.”_

_He doesn’t catch her reaction, too distracted by her apartment. There’s a dozen new things pinned to her corkboard, sparkly polaroids and concert tickets. A giant stuffed penguin (the victory prize from their visit to the arcade last month) sits in the corner, cushioning her roommate’s guitar. Fairy lights twinkle atop the faded lilac curtains, pink and silver._

_“Drinks coming through!” Varys announces, carefully sidestepping them both. “Aina, d’you know you have a dumbbell under your kitchen table?”_

_A bag of Doritos lands on the sofa, followed by a flash of tartan skirt and stripy socks. “And on your bookshelf.”_

_“And behind your bathroom door.” Remi chimes in, eyes still scanning Aina’s extensive CD collection. Galo whips his head up at that._

_“That’s a safety hazard!”_

_“They’re all where they should be, thank you very much!” Aina huffs, brandishing the remote like a sword. “Sit down already!”_

After years and change, Galo has a pretty good grasp on everyone’s tastes. Aina liked flashy musicals and roadtrip movies about aspiring bands, all big sets and infuriatingly catchy tunes. Lucia adored no-budget sci-fi flicks and horror movies where all the blood was delightfully ketchup-like. Remi was a fan of award-winners with sweeping cinematography, as well as the odd disaster movie. (It didn’t help that his apartment had the best sound system, meticulously blasting every volcano eruption in glorious HD.) Their captain enjoyed fast cars and sharp spies in his flicks, all sleek action and beautiful cars. And Varys - their current host - was a firm advocate for romantic comedies. 

“Alright, everyone settled?” he calls out, leaning over Aina to pass Ignis a glass full of ice. His gaze sweeps over Galo, lips twitching. “I’ve got extra chairs, y’know. You don’t have to sit on the floor.” 

“I’m good.” Galo says. Draped over his legs, Varys’ Great Dane makes a happy noise, tail thumping against the carpet. 

Tonight’s movie features a conventionally handsome man with big brown eyes and floppy hair, opposite an overworked lady in a smart pencil skirt. At the beginning, Handsome Man shares his intention to propose with his best friend. The Universe then proceeds to thwart his every attempt, through sudden downpours, transportation failures and comical miscommunications. At one point, a very expensive diamond ring gets dropped down the drain, much to everyone’s distress. The ending is a satisfyingly predictable affair, with tears and kisses and a heartfelt pair of _‘yes’_ -es.  
It’s simple, sweet and leaves Galo smiling, thumb tracing the chipped corners of his phone. It really was a shame Lio had to give the evening a miss - he would have _loved_ that airport chase scene. 

“That _ring_ though!” Lucia whistles as the credits start to roll. She and Remi had been playing a drinking game of sorts through the movie, leaving them both giggly and flushed. “How could a maths teacher afford a diamond that size?”

“Secret spy job on the side, _obviously_.” Remi replies. With an unsteady hand, he adjusts his glasses. “Would explain the Prada shoes.”

“What I _always_ want from these movies is a scene when they have to go back to the shop together, after the proposal - to exchange the ring for the correct size.” Lucia cackles, swaying in her seat. “Cuz - _c’mon_. No way everyone gets it right the first time.”

Varys’ shoulders heave with a heavy sigh. “No sense of romance, either of you.” 

“...how _does_ that work, exactly?” Aina pipes up, muffling a yawn behind her hand. “How _do_ you find out someone’s ring size without being _super_ obvious about it?”

Her question is met with silence. Then, as one, they all swivel round in their seats. 

“How did _you_ find out, Captain?”

The TV’s light glints off Ignis’ glasses. His moustache twitches.

“I already knew.” 

_...oh._

“Stupid thing to ask.” Lucia mutters as they all shuffle back around, shaking her head. Galo can only nod. The Captain, after all, was much too powerful. _Of course_ he wouldn’t be plagued with the concerns of simple, mortal men before proposing to his husband-to-be. 

The question, however, gnaws away at him, following him out into the kitchen.

“Couldn’t you just - measure it?” he asks as he grabs another empty bottle. Varys’ dog circles around his legs, nose damp against his hand. “Get a ruler, wait until they’re asleep?” 

“That’s way too complicated. And a bit creepy.” Aina snorts, shaking another recycling bag open for him. “...I guess you could borrow an existing ring? Take it along for reference?”

“And let them think they lost their jewellery?” Remi objects. “Something like gloves would be way easier to borrow and measure.”

They debate the finer points of the metaphorical plan throughout the clean-up, punctuated by yawns and sleepy indignation. Galo listens - eyes fixed on his screen, typing out a message to inform his boyfriend of his impending departure - and thinks. 

\---

  1. _What’s their zodiac sign?_



Chewing on his pen, Galo frowns down at the question. He still doesn’t understand the significance of star sign compatibility, no matter how many charts Aina forwards him. With a sigh, he circles the _‘I don’t know’_ option.

He’s not sure who left the magazine at the station. It had been abandoned on the kitchen table, front page stained with coffee. He was just about to toss it into the recycling when he spotted the quizz.

 _How well do you know your beau?_ Bright pink letters inquired, framed with a multitude of Clip Art hearts. _Take our SO Trivia Challenge and find out!_

So he took it home (obviously). Playing twenty questions about his boyfriend sounded _fun,_ and Galo never could resist an opportunity to ace a test.  
Or so he thought. 

  1. _Where were they born?_



...England? Or Detroit. Had to be one of the two. 

  1. _What was their favourite subject in school?_



Probably not maths, judging by how much he hated grant applications. Did they have debate classes in England? Or ones where you were allowed to build motorbikes out of boxes of scrap?

  1. _If they were an animal, what would they be?_



Cat. Definitely.

  1. _What was their favourite cartoon growing up?_



Twisting the cap, Galo tries to recall if, amidst the rare and quiet recountals of his adolescence spent on the run, Lio ever mentioned having access to cable and Saturday morning cartoons.  
He gives up very quickly. 

  1. _When is their mother’s birthday?_



Okay, now that’s just unfair. 

  1. _What was their last break-up like?_



Galo scowls at the page. 

There’s twenty two questions in total, with one point for every answer. There’s a sad emoji next to his result, yellow and reproachful. 

_Come on, step up your game! There's potential here if you get closer! Love is built on trust, you know. Let loose, be happy, don't hold on too tightly - but don’t be scared to lay your claim! Show them how much you care and how much better your relationship can be when both sides put in some extra effort._

“That’s harsh!” he protests, jabbing his pen at the paragraph accusingly.

“What is?” Lio asks from the kitchen. The oven timer beeps behind him.

“This quizz just called me a lousy boyfriend!”

There’s a pause. Then Lio’s shoulders are knocking against his, eyes narrow as he skims through the page. 

“These questions,” he declares, scowl dark and somewhat ferocious, “are _stupid._ ”

“Right?!” Galo drops the pen on the table, crossing his arms. “...except the ones about their favoured midnight snacks. That’s a _very_ important question.” 

Lio’s responding smile is smaller than expected. The blonde’s scowl only deepens, shoulders oddly tense. Before Galo can ask, the oven timer beeps _again_ and it’s a scramble into the kitchen to rescue their dinner.

\- 

“What _did_ you want to be, growing up?” 

Lio whips his head up, startled. Galo just flashes him a smile, carefully scraping the too-crispy top off his lasagne. 

“...I don’t really remember.” his boyfriend replies eventually. His fork taps against the plate, expression easing into something a little softer. “My powers awakened when I was still really young, which kind of...limited any career aspirations.” Chin slotting into his palm, he gives his meal a searching look. “...But I think I wanted to be a shop owner at one point.”

Galo blinks. “Like a supermarket?”

“More like a corner shop, I guess.” Lio says. A bashful sort of smile curls around his lips. “I just thought - you’d get to spend all day around boxes and boxes of sweets and snacks. And you had the keys to the vending machines. What’s better than that?” 

Galo nods sagely. “Little Lio had it all figured out!” 

Lio snorts, the odd tension finally bleeding out of his shoulders. He scoots close enough to steal the burnt cheese pieces off Galo’s plate, and Galo lets him because apparently, love means sometimes indulging your boyfriend in his gross eating habits. 

“You could still live the dream, y’know. After you finished destroying politicians and building the world anew, you could open a shop up, vending machines and all.” Underneath the table, he nudges Lio’s too-cold toes. “We could get one with an apartment upstairs!”

Lio plants his foot against his calf, smirking as Galo jumps. “Planning for my retirement already?”

“It’s good to have plans!” Galo says, insistent. He tries to imagine what tiny Lio would have looked like whilst he nursed that dream - all posh clothes and big violet eyes. Lio-of-the-present cocks his head, expression thoughtful. 

“What about you? What did tiny Galo Thymos want to grow up to be?”

The answer doesn’t warrant any thought. “I wanted to save the world.”

There were precious few photos from his childhood that weren’t scowling portraits or carefully posed publicity shots. But the few exceptions painted a very similar picture - scuffed knees, a beaming smile and a heroic pose, mouth open in the middle of a catchphrase.

“I used to climb up things to practice my poses. Had a bunch of costumes, catchphrases. All these elaborate plans on how to save the world, should it fall in terrible danger.” The memory of bright red blanket-capes and crayon drawings flash through his mind, prompting a smile. “And after...everything, firefighting made the most sense.” 

A faded memory of a workshed, with the scent of sawdust and a fireplace. The deep voice of a grandfather, hands strong and face kind. The bright red uniform, draped over the back of a chair.

A shining path towards a distant dream. A worthwhile legacy. 

“A hero who saves the world.” Lio echoes quietly. There’s a terribly fond look on his face, one that grabs Galo’s heart and leaves it tied in complicated knots. “...No backup ambitions at all?”

Twirling his fork, Galo considers the question. 

“I think I also wanted to be the person pulling the winning lottery numbers on TV at one point.”

“Wasn’t that usually a woman?”

“I was going to be the very first guy! _Obviously._ ” Galo huffs. “But I was totally going to keep the sparkly jacket. That was the best.”

“Oh, is _that_ what it would take for you to keep your jacket on at work? 

-

As Galo loads the dishwasher, Lio swipes the magazine off the counter and drops it into the recycling with a little more force than strictly necessary. Wiping his hands, Galo watched the blonde glare at the bin, as if its content had insulted him personally - and thinks. 

-

A sudden thought occurs to him as they’re getting ready for bed, pressed arm-to-arm in the cramped space between the sink and the bathtub. 

“Hey, Lio?”

The blonde grunts in response around his toothbrush. 

“What _is_ your zodiac sign?”

Lio’s reflection rolls his eyes. Tips forward to spit into the sink. 

“Ask Aina.” There’s a smudge of toothpaste on his chin. “She was really disappointed I didn’t know the time I was born, so she couldn’t work out all of them.” Their gazes meet in the mirror. “...did you know you could have at least _three_ zodiac signs?” 

“...is that including the Chinese one?”

“The _what_ now?!”

\---

 **_(7:35)_ ** _From: Lio_

Galo

How long has that cowboy hat been on the cactus for

**_(7:36)_ ** _From: Lio_

Where did you even get such a small cowboy hat from

**_(7: 40)_ ** _To: Lio_

Put it on right b4 i left! Found them in the dollar store yday

**_(7: 40)_ ** _To: Lio_

didnt wanna wake u, looked 2 cute <3

**_(7: 41)_ ** _To: Lio_

There’s a tiny sombrero in the kitchen if u think that would look better 

**_(7:43)_ ** _From: Lio_

I love you. So much. 

**_(7:44)_ ** _From: Lio_

Please pick up some milk if you’re still at the store 

\---

“More tea?”

Carefully placing his cup down onto its plastic saucer, Galo nods. “Yes please.”

The little girl opposite him lifts the plastic teapot, pinkie extended, making soft sound effects under her breath as she pours the imaginary brew out. Galo makes sure to drink it with appropriate amounts of enthusiasm. 

“One more?”

“Are you sure that’s okay? This is like, my fourth cup.”

“This is from the faulty shipment.” the boy to Lilly’s right replies, brows crinkled and serious. He swirls a tiny spoon in his own cup. “We can’t serve it to the _customers,_ so you can have as much as you like.” 

The storyline of their current session of _house_ is about two months in the making. The former-Burnish children of the freshly renovated adoption agency had first invited Galo to play _coffee shop_. Over his subsequent visits, it had swiftly evolved into a _coffee-shop-that’s-really-a-front-for-a-secret-crime-solving-organisation, deep in rivalry with the next-door bakery_. It was incredibly complex, worryingly cut-throat and Galo was a little obsessed with it. Much to his surprise (and delight), the children always waited for their visit before continuing the storyline, no matter how steep the cliffhanger was they last left on. Today’s session had involved some plans for blackmail, mixing elaborate poisons from an assortment of wildflowers and a very sweet conclusion to an ongoing case involving a single mother and a shy gardener. Galo suspected the latter was partially inspired by the soap opera favoured by the carers. 

Lilly sets the teapot down on the table. She purses her lips in contemplation. 

“Hey, Galo…” she begins, and the firefighter cheers internally. Finally, the months of asking for her to stop calling him ‘Mister Thymos’ were paying off. “Are you and the Boss dating?”

“Yep!” he says cheerfully. Lilly’s expression turns smug in an instant. 

_“See!”_ she croons, turning to the girl to her left. “I told you!”

“No, _you_ said they were _married!_ Dating and marriage are different!” Rosa retorts, cheeks puffing up. Her friends look unconvinced.

“Different how?”

“Taxes.” Rosa says with the absolute conviction of a seven year old. 

As if on cue, a voice rings out from the main building, telling them to come back inside. As they walk back, the two girls latch onto Galo’s arms with an admirable co-ordination. With a grunt, he lifts them both in the air.

“You’re staying a bit longer, right?” Lilly asks between squeals.

“Yeah! Until Lio finishes up with the principal.” 

“Cool!” she giggles, legs swinging merrily. Rosa’s little nails dig into his wrist and Galo resolves to add even more pull-ups to his workout. “Hey, can I braid your hair?”

Ten minutes later, Galo finds himself sitting cross-legged in the corner, sporting one bun and one messy attempt at a french braid. Rosa holds his left hand steady as Lilly finishes painting his nails, tongue stuck out in concentration. 

“Okay - eyeshadow next!” she declares. Setting the nail varnish aside, she peers into her re-purposed shoebox in contemplation. “Should we do blue or pink?”

Galo tilts his head in consideration. The plastic jewels clipped to his ears jingle with the motion.

“Which one has glitter in it?”

Lilly’s eyes _gleam_.

-

Determined little fingers just finish dabbing hot pink gloss over his lips when Lio pokes his head into the room. A myriad of emotions flicker across his face - awe, shock, confusion - before settling steadfast into amusement. 

“Galo Thymos, you have never looked more beautiful.” 

Galo flutters his eyelashes, now long and sticky with a dozen coats of mascara. Lio makes a strangled sort of noise, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. “Thanks, babe!” 

Beside him, the two girls exchange a triumphant glance. Then, like clockwork, their faces light up with a devilish epiphany.

“Can we do yours too, Boss?” Rosa asks, eyes big and hopeful. She skips across the room to grab Lio’s hand, and Galo already knows her victory is assured. “You two could _match!_ ”

To Lio’s credit, he takes to the task like he takes to everything else - arms crossed, head raised high, determination unbreakable. Even seated on a battered plastic chair designed for toddlers, he sits like a king before his council and Galo loves him _so much_. 

He manages to take a total of four photos before the children are collected by their respective carers and Lio is whisked away to finish signing paperwork. Two are blessedly unblurry, showing the blonde’s painted face in glorious focus, shiny lips pulled into a helpless smile as the girls crowd around him. Unsurprisingly, he pulls the hot pink eyeshadow off beautifully. 

Galo sets his favourite one as his phone wallpaper. He traces a finger over the curve of Lio’s cheek - the children’s questions echoing in his mind - and thinks. 

\---

Like most big, life-changing realisations, it’s prompted by onions. 

It’s Thursday night and they’re making dinner. Galo is at the stove, hunched over a pot of sizzling mincemeat. Behind him, Lio is in charge of peeling and chopping his way through a small mountain of vegetables.  
They’re making burritos. It’s an old recipe, passed down from an old roommate, one he could cook in his sleep. Galo’s grateful for the familiarity, mind still occupied by flashing lights and ugly accusations.

Dealing with reporters had become a second nature at this point, for both of them. The press had latched onto them eagerly after the end of the world, tirelessly pressing for _answers_ and _statements_ and _what do you say to the rumours, Mr. Fotia? Is what they say really true, Mr. Fotia? You owe the people an answer, Mr. Fotia -_

(Lio never rose to any bait, eyes steely and expression unreadable. It was Galo that crumbled behind the scenes, secretly wishing his boyfriend could still wrap himself in sleek black armour and a fanged mask.)

There was a small hoard of them outside the fire station when they clocked out earlier. Election season always made the paparazzi bold, their cameras and pointed questions at the ready. They’d gotten away quickly and fairly unscathed - but it left an uncomfortable itch under Galo’s skin, prickly and _annoying_. 

A blind man could see how much Lio worked, how he ran himself into the ground to try and right the wrongs. Why was it so hard for these people to see that?

He’s dragged out of his thoughts by a soft curse, followed by a sniffle. 

“ _Ugh_.” He turns just in time to see the tears start streaming down Lio’s face, eyes red. He’s across the kitchen before he knows it, wooden spoon still in hand.

“Are you okay?!”

“Yeah, just - _stings._ “ Lio motions towards the cutting board before setting his knife down and reaching to rub at his eyes. Galo catches his wrist in time.

“Don’t touch your face!” Snagging a kitchen towel, he leans in to dab the other’s cheeks dry. “You’ll make it worse!”

Lio just sniffs, squeezing his eyes shut. A wry smile curls around his lips. 

“If only the vultures could see me now. They’d have a field day with this.” His hand sweeps out, painting imaginary headlines in the air. “Former arson terrorist leader _finally_ brought to his knees! Read our exclusive interview with the farmer who grew the onion!”

Galo snorts, shaking his head. Slowly, he drops the kitchen towel on the table. 

“I’m sorry you have to deal with all...this. I’ll talk to the captain tomorrow - maybe we can get some extra security until the elections are over?”

Lio shakes his head. “It’s alright.” His smile is relaxed in a way Galo doesn’t expect after a day like that. “With you at my back, I can take whatever they throw at me.” 

It’s not the first time he’s repeated the promise Galo has made to him all those months ago. But this time, it gives him pause. 

_Wanting_ was a fickle, complicated thing. Galo learnt that very early on.  
And yet - staring at Lio’s red-rimmed eyes and trusting smile - it tears through him, white-hot and undeniably simple. 

_I want to marry him._

“We could always just go through the garage next time. They can’t wait for us there without trespassing.” 

He wants all the mornings to start with a wordless kiss and a lithe body against his own, with Lio having stolen the blanket once more. He wants late evenings and stupid in-jokes, wants to loudly argue about the merits of broccoli in the middle of the supermarket as Lio pretends they don’t know each other. He wants rituals and routines and years’ worth of boring paperwork with both their names on it.

“Galo?”

He wants to take Lio to the beach, to the mountains, to all the places he didn’t get a chance to see before. He wants to take enough photos to fill a whole bookshelf of albums. He wants to help Lio figure out how to replant their cactus. He wants to know that when he’s old with grey hair and creaking joints, Lio is still going to be by his side. 

Fingers pinch his nose, snapping him back to focus. 

“Galo Thymos.” Lio is frowning now, free hand posed protectively over the cutting board. “If you’re thinking about fighting these onions for making me cry, I’ll be forced to do something drastic.” 

_I would fight a million onions for you,_ Galo thinks dumbly, gaze fixed on the tight knot of Lio’s brow. _I would fight a dozen reporters, politicians and paperwork. I would take on another Krazor X and ten more Apocalypses if it meant having you in my life._

“You got it, firebug.”

-

Three hours later, the clock strikes eleven thirty.

Lio is curled against his chest, open-mouthed and blissfully unconscious. Above them, their neighbours crank their music up a notch higher.  
Galo blinks up at the ceiling. Then, slowly, he snags his phone off his nightstand and opens up Pinterest. 

-

 **_(2:35)_ ** _To: Aina_

do u think using a PowerPoint during a proposal is a dealbreaker

**_(6:35)_ ** _From: Aina_

oh my god

\---

AN:

Nearly there....!  
Thank you again for the lovely comments and kudos - they always make me smile <3 The world is a very strange place right now - please take care of yourselves. 

Magazine quiz was taken from [here](https://www.girlslife.com/crushes/dating/21979/how-well-do-you-know-your-guy-take-the-bf-trivia-challenge-to-find-out) and [here!](https://www.allthetests.com/quiz26/quiz/1255142589/How-well-do-you-know-your-boyfriend) Hope you guys enjoyed - any thoughts are super appreciated <3


	4. Chapter 4

It’s months - years and change - after the end of the world, and every day, there’s still reasons for Galo’s anticipation towards _tomorrow_ to grow a little brighter. 

\---

In the end, finding _the_ ring is easier than anticipated.

As Galo threw himself headfirst into planning and research, his excitement was soon joined by its good neighbour _Oh God, this is a little overwhelming_. The culture of proposals was as lucrative as it was varied, ranging from cloyingly sweet to...worryingly psychopathic. And as for the rings themselves...the sheer breadth of selection - both online and offline - made Galo’s head spin.  
(His sympathy for last movie night’s Floppy Haired Protagonist only grew with every passing day.) 

It didn’t help that he wasn’t entirely sure what sort of ring would fit Lio the best. Ideally, Galo wanted something that was both pretty and _cool_ \- something classy but also _sparkly_. It would need to be sturdy enough not to hinder the blonde at work - but at the same time, _special_ and _one-of-a-kind_ and pulling out all the stops. Then there was also the matter of colour. Lio’s wardrobe gravitated towards monochromes, but the hues Galo associated with him were anything _but_ \- bright teals, burning pinks, stunning violets.  
Lastly, Galo wanted to choose something that paid tribute to Burnish traditions, in some shape or form. He knew their rituals weren’t set in stone, varying with each couple and circumstance - but there was one couple and one set of rings in particular that had prompted the idea.

_“Pretty rich, coming from you.” Lio snorts. On the opposite end of the table, Meis raises his hands in defeat._

_“I know, I know,” he says, tone one of warm, weary familiarity. “I married a guy from Florida, I have no place to talk.”_

_Galo blinks at them, a fry tumbling free from his mouth. “Wait - you guys are_ **_married_** _?!”_

_Casually as you please, Meis steals his last onion ring. “Not officially.”_

_“Excuse you,” Gueira cuts in, eyes wide and terribly offended. “It’s_ **_plenty_ ** _official! It was officiated to hell and back! There was_ **_cake_** _!”_

_“Not officially on paper.” Meis corrects, rolling his eyes. His fond smile ruins the effect somewhat. “But yeah. Our anniversary was just the other month.”_

_His fingers fiddle with the neck of his shirt, pulling a thin chain into view. A slim, dark band dangles off it, flickering with familiar holographic shades in the afternoon light. As Galo leans in to take a closer look, Gueira peels his left sleeve back, revealing a matching band woven into one of the bracelets looped around his wrist._

_“Did you guys...make these?” There’s no gemstone embedded in the rings - only a neat pattern of tiny triangles carved around a date. The surface is smooth to the touch, warm with body heat._

_“Yep!” Gueira preens. Between the greasy plates and empty mugs, his fingers slip into Meis’ waiting hand. “Volcanic rock and a whole lotta flames.”_

_“Whoaaah.” Galo murmurs, voice hushed with awe. “_ ** _So_ ** _cool!”_

_He watches Meis hurriedly tuck the ring out of sight - swiftly scanning their surroundings for danger - and doesn’t ask why they’re not wearing them on their fingers._

Despite the staggering selection of jewellery, coupled together with his own stubborn determination to only accept _perfection in every sense_ , it only takes Galo two trips downtown to stumble upon _it_.  
A slim silver band with a single sparkling gem, framed by delicate diamond-shaped carvings and a pair of tiny triangles. When the sales assistant holds it against the light, a rainbow scatters across the counter.  
It’s perfect. 

“I’ll take it!” 

“Good choice, sir!” she chirps from behind the counter, excitement bleeding through her politeness. “That one’s really one of a kind! Now - do you have the ring size?”

Clutching the notebook hiding the measurements taken meticulously from Lio’s glove just days ago, Galo beams at her. 

\---

Working out the finer details proves to be a _little_ more difficult. 

Galo loved lists - top 20 lists, countdowns, compilations, personality quizzes. (He might spend a little _too_ much of his spare time on Buzzfeed.) But the more he reads - the deeper he digs himself - the more conflicted he feels about _everything_.

A very popular consensus seemed to be that the proposal’s location was _very_ important - the more personal and significant, the better. The place of a first date, a first confession was ideal. But Galo had met Lio on the roof of the former Foresight Pharmaceuticals - currently locked down and under reconstruction. However significant, trespassing into a dusty pile of rubble (bearing the Foresight logo) didn’t exactly scream _romance_. 

There was also the once-frozen lake in the woods - now a dry crater, housing the remains of Dr. Deus’ lab. It was a spot they still frequented occasionally - mostly at the end of long weeks, bone-tired and in desperate need of some uninterrupted, therapeutic screaming. (Galo liked yelling into the deep chasm in the earth, whilst Lio preferred the trees of the dense forest.)

Again, not the most romantic of set-ups. 

Further significant locations included the former crash site of the Parnassus, _the cave_ , the rooftop of Burning Rescue and the ER ward of their local hospital. Galo dismissed all of them almost immediately. 

(Now that he thinks about it, an alarming number of their significant places are covered with rubble and demolished remains.  
This should _probably_ concern him more than it does.)

Then there was the method itself. 

“They’re all just so _weird_ , is the thing - “ he repeats, waving his hand in an attempt to aptly encompass how _fucking bizarre_ it was to throw _extremely expensive diamond rings_ into unsuspecting people’s _champagnes and cakes_. “Like, _so many_ hygiene and choking hazards. Not to mention what biting down on a diamond would do to someone’s _teeth!_ ” 

Steady hands nudge a mug between his fingers. “Uhuh.” 

“And _why_ do so many proposal tips involve candles in the bedroom?!” Galo continues, voice just a _touch_ hysterical. “Candles leading _into_ the bedroom, candles around the bed, candles surrounded by flower petals...have they not seen the _statistics_? Have they not heard of LED tealights?!”

“Galo. Breathe.” 

Galo takes a deep breath. Lemon-scented steam billows against his chin, sharp and soothing.

“None of that stuff is compulsory, you know.” Aina reminds him. She had shown up at his doorstep between his twelfth and thirteenth text and all but dragged him to the nearest cafe. “And I’ve seen how Lio eats cake. He’d definitely crack a molar.”

Galo takes an obligatory sip of his tea. Somehow, he manages not to burn his tongue. “Yeah but...don’t you think that would make it more meaningful? Setting something on fire for him?”

It was the perfect final detail, in theory - simple, but meaningful and _dramatic_. An acknowledgement of their shared past, of a very significant moment in their relationship. But the thought just made his skin itch uncomfortably, worries and questions popping up like mushrooms after the rain. The use of naked flame would affect (and limit) the potential locations dramatically - not to mention that he didn’t even know _what_ would be the best thing to set fire to - 

(For the first time, Galo finds himself immensely grateful for Lio’s unpredictable schedule, keeping him late at the office. Had the blonde been home, bearing witness to his boyfriend’s steady spiral into indecisive _fretting_ , it would have been impossible to keep his plans a secret.) 

“You’ve already set stuff on fire for him, though.” Aina says. Her tone is split halfway between exasperated and amused. “There was a heart-shaped cloud and a galaxy-wide inferno and everything, remember?”

“...Shit!” Galo’s head snaps towards her, stricken. “...That would have been the perfect time!”

Aina snorts into her tea gracelessly. “ _Really?_ With both of you battered and half-naked? Right in front of Kray?”

They both pause to consider it. They manage a good three seconds before bursting into tired giggles. 

“I know it’s hard not to, but try not to stress too much over this, Galo.” Aina murmurs once they’ve both caught their breath. She idly empties yet another packet of sugar into her mug. “You don’t have to do something drastic for Lio to appreciate the gesture. I’m sure you just asking him will make him really happy.”

Galo takes another sip. He could feel the hours finally catching up with him, exhaustion settling deep into his bones. “...You think so?”

“Oh _please_.” Aina snorts. “That man would say yes if you proposed with a ring pop.”

“...they _do_ sell those really big ones that light up in the supermarket...” 

“Please don’t propose with a ring pop, Galo.” 

-

He returns home a few hours later to find Lio hunched over the kitchen table, eyes fixed on his tablet as he drinks tomato soup straight from the can. 

“Lio!” Galo cries out, aghast. _“Use a spoon!”_

\---

 **_(20:33)_ ** _From: Aina_

hope you got home safe! remember, you’re banned from pinterest for 24hrs. get some sleep!!

**_(20:35)_ ** _From: Aina_

oh and another thing

**_(20:35)_ ** _From: Aina_

promise me that it will not, at any point, involve hot air balloons

**_(20:40)_ ** _To: Aina_

THERE R HOT AIR BALLOONS 4 RENT IN PROMEPOLIS?!!!!

**_(20:41)_ ** _From: Aina_

PROMISE ME GALO

\---

His first attempt involves ten pages of Yelp reviews, a hushed phone call on the Burning Rescue roof and a hurried trip to the dry cleaner’s.

The restaurant he’d chosen was fancy enough to warrant a tie and shiny shoes, but not _fancy_ enough to make them feel uncomfortable. It boasted two floors and private balcony seating, with an incredible view framed by potted lemon trees.  
Couldn’t go wrong with the classics, right?  
The first available date is in two weeks’ time. Still shaken by the horror stories he’d read about _ten-month-long-waiting-lists_ , Galo quickly books it. 

A week before the date, they get a call just an hour shy of midnight - to a very familiar address. Galo scrambles out of the truck just in time to see the balcony section crumble in the flames.

 _Well. Shit._

By the time they put the fire out, Galo’s shoulders are sore and he’s too exhausted to feel disappointed. 

“I’m really sorry about your potted lemon trees.” he tells the grim-faced owner sincerely, offering him a lukewarm bottle of water. “They were _really_ cool.”

\---

His second attempt involves half a dozen cooking blogs, a sneaky trip to the big supermarket and a stern staring battle with the weather page.

This time, Galo wanted to try something a little cozier, closer to home. Settle in with a nice meal (steak and potatoes, all prepped in his cute apron), then suggest a late night stroll in the nearby park. The stars weren’t as piercingly clear in the city as they would have been in the desert - but they were still pretty enough to hopefully inspire the right kind of mood.

On Thursday, Galo bounds out of the station on the dot, spirits high. The beginnings of giddy anticipation follow him through the store and up the stairs of their apartment, putting an extra bounce in his step. However, the scene that greets him beyond the front door is not one he expects.

“Oh, hey guys!” he calls out, nudging the two extra pairs of shoes off the doormat. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

The big lumps on the sofa make a vague noise in reply. A hand emerges from under the covers, giving him a limp wave.  
That…was a little worrying. 

Lio is already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up and hands sticky with apple juice. His frown splinters into a smile when he spots Galo.

“I was about to text you.” he says, tossing the knife into the sink. Galo leans down to catch his _welcome-home_ kiss just in time. “They got here a little while ago, looking like...that. Real shit day at work, apparently.” Violet eyes dip down to the bag of groceries in the firefighter’s grip, widening with realisation. “Ah - “ 

“I’ll get the nachos and the dip.” Galo cuts in, brain already racing with dinner possibilities. He rocks forwards, planting a kiss on the tip of Lio’s nose. “Do we break out the ice cream now, or after dinner?”

-

Two servings of ice cream and three rounds of Street Fighter later, Meis and Gueira emerge from the depths of their blanket cocoon. Slowly, through the chatter and familiar teasing, the tension dissipates in the room. When conversation turns towards the trio’s favoured reality show and the undeserving winner of the last season, Galo makes a move to get dinner started. 

It was always fun getting to see Lio in the company of his former generals, he muses as he scatters the vegetables across the cutting board. There was just something about catching glimpses of his boyfriend around those he considered his brothers - those who have accompanied him through thick and thin, who had Lio’s absolute trust and returned it tenfold. The three of them fit together like well-worn cogs, oiled by a sense of camaraderie Galo couldn’t wholly understand, but was very grateful for.   
Plus Meis and Gueira were just _fun_ \- two very different flavours of chaos and creativity, burning with the same desire to carve a space out for the former Burnish in the new world. 

A quiet rap against the door drags him back to reality, followed by swift steps and a swathe of long black hair.

“I’ve been sent to replenish the Doritos.” 

Galo glances at the clock. The oversized party bag had lasted twenty minutes. Considering the crisis situation, pretty impressive. “There’s more in the cupboard to your right, help yourself!” 

With a grunt, Meis drops into a crouch. Galo makes a mental note to oil the cupboard hinges later. 

“...why do you guys have so many cans of tuna?”

“Oh, we had coupons.” 

“Ah.” Meis dips out of sight again. “...What are you going to make out of them?”

“I have no idea!”

There’s a soft snort. The cupboard door squeaks shut, plastic crinkling as the Doritos are set down on the counter.

“...sorry for barging in like this.” Meis says suddenly. He plucks at the bag, voice scratchy with discomfort.

“Don’t be stupid, you guys are always welcome here!” Galo is quick to insist. He flicks a cherry tomato at him, which Meis promptly snatches from mid-air. “Besides, Lio did say you guys spent the whole week with the stingy budget guy.” Galo had met him once during a gala. It had been a very aggravating experience. “I dunno how you get through whole meetings with him.”

“I fantasize about running him over with a bulldozer.” comes the deadpan reply. With a vicious yank, he tears the Doritos open.

Knife poised against the cutting board, Galo holds his tongue. Soon enough, Meis’ shoulders go slack with a sigh. 

“...it’s just - this is the exact reason why I joined Mad Burnish, y’know?” Idly, he plucks a hair tie loose from his wrist, twisting the beginnings of a sloppy braid into his hair. “I was tired of all the bullshit and wanted to _do_ something. And now - now we can’t do anything but just - stand there and fucking take it.” 

He sounds weary, exhausted. Galo’s eyes follow him as he paces around the kitchen, eventually settling against the now-cluttered counter. 

“Some days, I miss the hell out of it.” The admission is quiet, courted by a soft, self-deprecating laugh. “I miss the thrill of a raid, the adrenaline. I miss the fear in the bigots’ eyes, how quick they’d be to beg for their lives. I even kind of miss being on the run.” Long fingers grasp at his bicep, curling over the ink of his tattoo. “Well - our bikes. The fires at night. Camping under the stars.”

“I get that.” Galo says. He wouldn’t change the present for anything in the world, but saying he doesn’t sometimes miss facing down a Burnish blaze would be a lie.

“Those days, it felt like we could do anything, y’know? Free everyone. Fight back. Build a city for the Burnish, where we could all be free.” Meis’ lips curl wistfully. His nails dig into his arm. “And now, we’re back to politely begging people in monkey suits and wounded egos for a shot at having a future.”

( _“What was the point of it all?”_ Lio had muttered into his hands just a month ago, eyes glassy and lips trembling. Galo had found him slumped over the kitchen desk, mug full and ice cold at his elbow. _“I spent a whole day arguing with people on why we should be treated like human beings._ **_Again._ ** _What the hell was the point of fighting the end of the world?”_ )

“...I won’t say I understand what it’s like, cuz I don’t think I could.” Galo says when the silence turns uncomfortable. Setting his knife down, he meets Meis’ guarded eyes head on. “But I can understand how hard it is to keep your cool when people don’t treat you with respect.” 

Meis’ lips twist. “...I do miss the easy access to arson sometimes.” 

“I know.” Meis made no secret of that, much to the firefighting squad’s distress and Gueira’s amusement. “And I know that things are stupid slow right now, but you gotta remember - there’s Burnish children now who are gonna grow up going to school and will have roofs over their heads. And they’ll get to be whatever they want to be when they’re older! And there’s lots of Burnish who will get to _grow old_ now. You guys did that - and no one can take that away from them!” 

( _“That’s a foolishly bold statement to make, Galo.”_ Lio had replied to that same declaration a month ago, smile small and sad. _“You know we can’t promise that.”_

_“What I_ **_know,_** _”_ Galo had shot back, brows tight, _“is that you and your team poured blood, sweat and tears into pushing all those changes to the new laws, to make sure that something like Kray and the Parnassus couldn’t happen again! What I_ **_know_ ** _is that those papers have all been signed and that you guys made it happen!”_

Lio’s hands had shook then, safe in the tight grip of Galo’s palms. _“...what if that’s not enough?”_

 _“It will be. And if something happens - we’ll just keep punching it until it’s all right.”)_

“And you know - on shitty days, you should swing by the station. We’ve got those training dummies in the basement. They can take a few punches.” Galo says, throwing his fist out in demonstration. “We could tape pictures on the heads, if you want. Or - have you tried cooking? That involves stabbing things. Lio likes making stew and mashed food after shitty days - he says it’s really helpful!” 

Meis cocks his head, long fringe falling over one eye. Slowly, he turns back to his abandoned bowl - but not before Galo can catch his smile.

“I’ve decided.” His tone is light, like they’ve just been discussing the merits of one mayonnaise brand over the other. “You can have it.”

“Oh, thanks!” Galo beams. “...Have what?”

“My blessing.” Meis replies, as if that was obvious. “To make an honest man out of the Boss.” 

A strangled noise echoes across the kitchen. It takes Galo a moment to realise it came from his own throat.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Meis continues, eyes gleaming. “All that staring at our rings lately.” 

“A-ah - “

“And honestly, it’s about time - how many years has it been?” 

“That’s - !”

“Babe!” Gueira’s voice cuts through Galo’s stammering, piercing and unignorable. “Where did you go?! We’re _starving!_ ” 

-

“Alright…”

Gritting his teeth, Galo tightens his grip. The clock ticks above them, thunderous in the strained silence. From the corner of his eye, he sees Gueira’s teeth sink into his lower lip.

The block slips free. The tower trembles for just a moment. 

“What the _fuck_.” Meis breathes. 

“That’s _impossible!_ ” 

“Hah!” Leaning back, Galo pumps his fist with gusto. “Your move!”

“Guys,” Lio says from the couch, “the ice cream is going to melt.” 

Meis scowls at the Jenga tower in front of them, held up by just five blocks and a hatred for physics. “I’m going to do it.” 

Gueira’s eyes widen, frame going still. “Babe, _no._ ”

“I have to, Gueira. It’s the only way to victory.”

“ _Guys,_ ” Lio says, a shade annoyed, “the ice cream is melting.” 

“Alright.” The redhead’s voice trembles, fingers clenching into white-knuckled fists. “If you think it has to be like this - “ 

“Stay strong. For me.” 

There’s a sigh from the couch, followed by a tell-tale click of a camera. “Gueira, I’m eating your parfait.”

\---

“You’ve ruined me.” 

Fingers paused above his tablet, Galo twists around to watch Lio toss his keys into the lacquered bowl on top of their shoe rack. His cheeks are flushed from the brisk wind, hair hidden under a well-worn beanie. 

( _“Isn’t that Gueira’s?”_ Galo had asked last week. _“Not anymore.”_ Lio had replied.)

“Hah?”

“I ran into the family that just moved in downstairs. Got invited in for a drink.” There’s a pause as Lio kicks off his shoes, padding into the kitchen to put the now-lukewarm milk away. “They have hamsters.” 

Galo perks up. “What are their names?!” 

“Mishka and Potya.” comes the prompt reply, as if Lio had been expecting the question. With a grin, Galo glances back down on his tablet, hoping there was an Instagram account dedicated to their exciting hamster lives. There’s a scuff of slippers against the carpet and then a heavy, warm weight drapes itself along Galo’s back. 

“You’ve ruined me.” his boyfriend repeats, exasperation losing to the overwhelming fondness in his voice. “I can’t do small talk anymore.” 

Galo frowns, tilting his head back as much as their current positions allow. “You’re _great_ at small talk. You talked to someone about Excel templates and betta fish at that last charity gala for like, thirty minutes.”

“ _Romantic_ small talk.” Lio specifies. A finger idly skates down Galo’s arm, tracing along a prominent scar. “When people hear you live with a boyfriend, they always want...details. How you met, how you got together, tips on _getting_ a boyfriend, for keeping a boyfriend… and I never know what to say.” There’s a hot puff of air against Galo’s ear, a cold nose pressing against his neck. “ _Have you tried hitting them in the face with a motorbike and pushing them off a building?_ ”

Galo’s laughter is loud and _delighted_. “Might be a _bit_ difficult for most people, yeah.” His hands find Lio’s hair, scraping stray locks back behind his ear. “How about something easier? Like, _try pointing a sword at them?”_

Strong arms loop around his neck, a sharp chin settling on top of Galo’s head. “As it turns out, most people don’t own swords, either.”

“Shame.” It only takes a tilt of his head to press a kiss against Lio’s hand, lips lingering over the knuckle of his ring finger. “That was _really_ hot.” 

\---

His third attempt involves a little too much lube and very little thinking whatsoever.

“Galo,” Lio whispers, soft and _needy_. His fingers tighten in Galo’s hair as he drags the firefighter into another kiss, hot, sweet and perfect. 

Through months and months of extended (and delightful) exposure, Galo’s categorized all of Lio’s kisses by now.

There’s the soft kisses of _good morning_ and _welcome home_ , brushed sweetly against lips and foreheads. There’s the uncoordinated kisses of too-late nights and too-early mornings, smacked against Galo’s neck and between his shoulderblades. There’s the half-successful kisses after jokes and bad puns, ruined by helpless smiles and muffled laughter. There’s the _I’m sorry_ kisses, tasting of crumbling composure and the frayed edges of the facade Lio thinks he needs to uphold. There’s the kisses on the wrong side of desperation, tasting of salt and adrenaline, accompanied by nails on skin. 

There’s the kisses reserved for an audience Lio wanted to appease (pecks on the lips delivered with rom-com precision), kisses for an audience he wanted to piss off (with hands grabbing hips and a _lot_ of tongue) and kisses for an audience he wanted to tease (with more teeth than tongue, leaving Galo’s lower lip swollen and their friends protesting). 

There’s the kisses for stolen moments in dark corners and empty meeting rooms, breathless and eager to muffle every gasp and groan. And then there’s the kisses reserved for their bedroom, where Lio kisses like he has all the time in the world, with single-minded focus and scorching determination. Like he could do this forever - keep Galo teetering on the edge of bliss and combustion, pulse smouldering under flushed skin, mind blank save for the need for _more, more, more_.

Fingers cradle his cheek and Galo presses into the touch, moan lost against Lio’s lips. Violet eyes crinkle down at him and Galo’s heart stutters in hopeless adoration. 

A little voice inside his head tries to remind him that proposals of _forever_ should probably not coincide with sex. The much louder voices - giddy with hormones and warmth and anticipation - insist that no, _no_ , this is a _great idea_. He’s been holding out for a perfect moment, and it’s hard to imagine how this - with Lio in his arms, eyes dark and lips still swollen - could feel any more perfect. 

He opens his mouth - and promptly, Lio’s palm presses over it, cutting off his words (and breath) effectively. 

“Let’s play a game,” his boyfriend purrs, eyes gleaming with a spark that’s always a precursor to _long_ , _fun_ nights. “I’m going to show you exactly what sort of daydreams kept me sane through my last meeting.” Nails drag down the firefighter’s chest, sharp and wicked in their promise. “And if you can keep quiet through all of it, I’ll give you a _really_ nice reward. Okay?” 

...well.  
 _Shit._

A strangled sort of noise escapes Galo, torn between the desire to offer his very enthusiastic approval and to just _laugh_. The hand slips from his mouth, Lio’s smirk softening.

“Is that okay?” he murmurs, cocking his head to the side. “We don’t have to, if you’re not in the mood for it.”

His tone is sweet with concern, brows already scrunched with the beginnings of worry. Galo’s heart promptly melts. 

“You’re _on_ ,” he tells his (sweet, beautiful, _wonderful_ ) boyfriend, hands curling around his waist. His hips grind up to meet Lio’s, lips swallowing the blonde’s gasp. “Tell me about this really nice reward.” 

“And ruin the surprise?” There’s teeth against his collarbone before clever fingers are making short work of his shirt. “Where’s the fun in that?”

\---

His fourth attempt involves cold toes against his shin and a mouthful of hair.  
It’s a little past eleven. Rain patters against the window and Lio’s drooling on his shoulder again. 

Even with the biggest sense of bias on this side of the universe, Galo wouldn’t call slumbering Lio _cute_. The blonde alternated between a tight ball and a sprawling octopus of twitching limbs, splayed gracelessly across the mattress. His feet were always ice-cold, any socks escaping to the carpet within twenty minutes of getting under the covers. And that was before you considered all the twitching, the kicking and the _drool_.

As if on cue, Lio shifts closer, slurred words muffled into Galo’s neck. Dropping his phone, Galo reaches over to stroke his hair.

“Hey, firebug.” he whispers. “Will you marry me?”

Lio’s brows tighten, nose scrunching with the motion. When Galo makes a move to pull his hand away, he grumbles in protest. 

“Later.” he mumbles, barely coherent. He butts his head against Galo’s fingers. “Sleep now.” 

\---

(Years and years later, when Galo recounts the story to their hysterically amused audience, Lio will bump their shoulders together.

“Most people would have seen that as a sign, y’know.” he will murmur in Galo’s ear once their loved ones are distracted by the prospect of food and drinks.

“Hah?” Galo will reply, hand settling on Lio’s hip with practiced familiarity. 

“A sign - _signs_ from the universe?” Lio will clarify, pressing closer. Soft blonde hair, collected into a ponytail, will brush against Galo’s elbow. “That it wasn’t meant to be.” 

A memory will flash through Galo’s mind at that, still chillingly sharp in its clarity. Of a collapsing spaceship, smelling of smoke and steel. Of a limp body under his trembling hands, crumbling away before his eyes.

Some would call _that_ a sign. Many would call most moments of their early relationship (their first, second, third meeting) signs from the universe - warning signs to stay away, to steer clear, to _let go_. 

But Galo has never, ever been good at reading - taking, _accepting_ \- the signs when it came to Lio. 

“Oh _please_ , firebug.” he will scoff, tilting his head to bump their foreheads together. The scent of smoke will still cling to Lio’s skin, comforting and familiar. There will be thirty good years engraved into the laugh lines of his face, eyes still sparkling with the same fire that set Galo’s soul ablaze at the end of the world. 

“I’ve fought the universe for you before, Lio.” he will remind his husband, delighting in the crows’ feet that gather with the blonde’s smile. “I’ll gladly do it again.”) 

\---

They both have the second Thursday of the month off. 

The late afternoon light filters through the window, perfectly highlighting all the spots Galo missed whilst cleaning. The bathroom pipes gurgle, a soft undercurrent to the bathroom fan’s unholy screeching. Galo considers the succulents again, thumb swiping at the screen of his phone. 

“The Internet says you need to be repotted.” he tells the biggest one, fingers worrying the thick leaves. If succulents could frown, he’s pretty sure he’d be on the receiving end of an exasperated glare. “I didn’t think you’d grow _that_ fast, but - “ 

_“HAH!!”_

Lio’s voice echoes across the flat, sharp and triumphant. Before Galo can move a muscle, he bursts into the bedroom. 

“Look at this!” A swathe of black fabric is thrust into the air. “Feast your eyes, Galo Thymos and witness my victory!” 

From his comfortable seat on the floor, Galo blinks up at his boyfriend. 

“That’s my shirt.” he supplies helpfully. 

“Fresh from the laundry!” Lio adds, grin widening. He lowers his arms so Galo can take a closer look. “And still the _same size!_ I have _conquered the machine!_ ” 

He throws his hands in the air again, taking the shirt with it. He looks dishevelled and ridiculously proud. Between their bed and the doorway - dressed in Galo’s workout clothes and uncombed four-day old hair - Lio looks _happy_.

The bedside cabinet is a short hop and reach away. When Lio whirls back to face him, Galo’s already on his knees, sweaty hands hidden behind his back. 

Lio raises a brow. Galo’s stomach loops itself into a neat bow.

“I love you.” he says and Lio’s eyes soften alongside his smirk. “There’s something I wanna ask you...something I’ve been trying to ask you for a while now, actually.”

 _Well, fifth time’s the charm._

“I love you,” he repeats. It’s still a thrill to get to tell Lio that, the words still charged and precious. “I love you, and I want everything with you. I-I want routines and rituals and mountains of paperwork with both our names on it. I want more cacti and a shop that sells sweets and toothbrushes, with a garage next to it to put our bikes in. You make me burn so much brighter, and I want to make you so, _so_ happy.” He pulls his arms back to reveal the tiny box. Lio sucks in a sharp breath and the sound pierces straight through Galo’s heart. “So, Lio Fotia...do you want to marry me?”

After the years and years of living and working together, Galo thought he had lost the ability to surprise Lio. But for a long, long moment, Lio can only stare at him, slack-jawed and wide eyed -   
Right before he doubles over with laughter, shoulders shaking and hands pressed over his face. 

If Galo wasn't so inexplicably charmed, he'd be a _bit_ offended.

“Just - hang on, hang on, _hang on -_ “ 

And then Lio is scrambling, yanking at drawers and tossing jackets aside - and before Galo can think to draw a breath, he’s standing before him again, cheeks flushed and hands hidden behind his back. 

“Galo Thymos,” Lio says, eyes suspiciously bright and voice as shaky as Galo’s hands. “I’ll accept your proposal...“ And then he’s dropping to his knees, revealing an identical little velvet box nestled in his palms, “...if you accept mine.” 

Galo thinks he says yes. He hopes there’s a _yes, yes, yes, yes, YES_ amidst the breathless noises that gush from his throat, soon lost against Lio’s tongue.

The ring - _his ring_ \- is a gleaming onyx band with a single sparkling gem, framed by delicate diamond-shaped carvings and a pair of tiny triangles. As expected, it fits perfectly. 

(“The sales lady told me it was _one of a kind_ when I bought it, though!” Galo will exclaim a few hours later, tangled between the sheets and Lio’s arms. “This is _totally_ from the same set!”

“She’s probably contractually obligated to say that about _every_ ring, babe.” Lio will reply, voice still blissed-out and breathless. He will lift his hand above his head, the sparkle in his eyes eclipsing the glitter of the gem, and Galo will be obligated to smother him in kisses (again), all protests forgotten.)

His cheeks are somewhat dry again when Lio suddenly stills against him, pulling away abruptly. 

“Hang on,” he pants. He drags a hand through his hair and Galo cannot help but nip at the now-exposed sliver of his neck. “Hang on, hang on, _hang on -_ where’s the PowerPoint?” 

“...Hah?” 

Lio stares at him. 

“Galo Thymos,” he begins, as if addressing an army before an invasion. His cheeks are flushed crimson and Galo loves him so, so, _so_ much, “don’t even try to tell me that you had a _proposal_ planned and it didn’t involve _any_ presentations or signs or posters whatsoever!”

Well he’s not _wrong._

“I do have a slideshow.” Galo admits. He noses against Lio’s collarbone, arms wrapping snugly around his waist. “Do you wanna see it?”

Hands cradle his jaw, thumb tracing along his lower lip. The ring is cool against his cheek, smooth and thrilling. “What a stupid question. Of course I want to see it.”

Galo’s hands slither down to the blonde’s thighs, pulling him further into his lap. “It’s fifty seven pages long, not counting the intro and outro.”

Lio laughs, shaking his head. His eyelashes are still damp with tears. “Are there stick figure drawings in it?”

“Lots.” Galo promises. With a soft huff, his fiance leans in for a kiss. 

“Go on then. Show me.” 

\---

AN: 

And that's a wrap! 

Their rings are based on the [official](https://aitaikuji.com/promare-x-material-crown-collaboration-jewelry-ring-lio-fotia) [freaking rings](https://aitaikuji.com/promare-x-material-crown-collaboration-jewelry-ring-galo-thymos) (because that's a thing). I really love the theory/explanation that the Lio ring is much bigger because it was meant for Galo - and the Galo ring was meant for Lio. (I'm still not over that, God dammit Trigger....)

I just want to thank everyone again who commented and left kudos on this story - words can't quite express how much I appreciate them. I really hope you guys enjoy the conclusion - any thoughts are super appreciated <3


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